Treasures of the Heart

Part 2

Usually Pa gave us a gift for our birthdays - Erik’s is in late June and mine is in late July - but we didn’t have a celebration. After Mrs. de Marigny’s and Pa’s wedding we observed my birthday and a late one for Erik. Pa made a toy drum for Erik to beat outside, and a wooden toy like one Pa had seen overseas. Erik put his fingers in either end, pulled, and then when he pushed them back toward each other he couldn’t free them. He had to turn one end a certain way and then the other - and he had to turn them in the correct order. Erik was beside himself with joy and wanted to run out to show his friends. Pa put a firm "no" on that idea. I received a jump rope and pick-up sticks and was convinced the day couldn’t be any better. I spent the afternoon trying to teach Erik how to play pick-up sticks. He was better than most boys his age probably would have been but he was no match for me. Then I played Pa and I’m pretty sure he let me win.

I was in such a good mood nothing could spoil my day and it was probably the first time I was around Mrs. de Marigny without reservation. My reward was a relaxing dinner. Once we finished the meal, and cleared the table, Mrs. de Marigny waved a finger.

"Oh, non, non. The birthday is not over yet." She left the house and walked across the courtyard to the kitchen.

"What Ma doing?" Erik asked, craning his neck as if he could see her and nearly falling off his stack of pillows.

"I imagine she has a surprise," Pa answered. He stood and walked over to secure the pillows tied to Erik’s chair seat. "Quit wiggling, son."

"What’s a wiggle?"

"It’s what your bottom’s doing." Pa sat down.

Erik looked sideways toward his hips. "I don’t see nothin’."

"Not even your butt?" I asked. Pa instantly frowned at me and I motioned toward Erik with an open hand. "He said he couldn’t see anything."

"Pa," Erik sounded worried. "What you did with my butt?"

Pa gave me a look reminding me my little brother was a parrot. "Let’s say ‘behind’ instead, please."

Erik twisted all the more and lifted up slightly. "Where it is?"

"Trust me it’s there. You’re sitting on it. Can’t you feel it?"

"A-dam said not to feel your behind."

I rolled my eyes. "He had a rash one day and was scratching so I told him to quit and just take off his trousers and we stayed home."

Pa nodded at my answer and his lips turned up a little at the edges.

My little brother squinted at Pa as if he were a conman, which there were plenty of in New Orleans - although Erik couldn’t have known about them. "You’s sure I’m sittin’ on my behind?"

"Look across the table. Isn’t Adam sitting on his?"

I grinned and looked down.

"Is you, A-dam?"

I couldn’t resist. "Is I what?"

"Is you sitting on your butt - " a quick look at Pa "- behind?"

"It’s all I know to sit on, Erik."

"Well," he said slowly as if he didn’t believe either one of us, "I wanna see it."

He could send me into spasms of laughter more quickly at that age than he ever could later on. "Tell you what," I said between gasps, "we’ll get a mirror and you can look at it in another mirror."

His face wrinkled in a grand frown. "That don’t make sense. How you see in one mirror when you look in tha other?"

I wiped my eyes. "I’ll show you."

"Like you did after Pa spank you dat time," Erik said.

Pa leaned his elbow on the tabletop and his hand curved around his chin. "Did you think you had lost your behind, Adam?"

"No, Pa," I said with a shake of my head. "It ached too bad."

I was looking at Pa and saw his eyes go past me and above me. I turned to see what had his attention and yelped, "Glory!"

"You like it?" Mrs. de Marigny smiled and put the tray on the tabletop. Centered on a plate was a sweet cake with candies around it.

"Yes, ma’am."

"Would you like to do the honors?" She passed a knife to me.

I looked at her in confusion. "Ma’am?"

"Since you are the oldest I thought perhaps you should cut the dessert."

"Pa, be sure dey the same," Erik instructed quickly, before I could begin slicing. "My tummy hungry."

"Hungry!" I exclaimed. "Erik, we just finished eating."

"You don’t has room?"

I sighed. "I has room." I sliced the dessert. The layers of pastry were as light as anything I had ever seen.

"Pa?" Erik looked from the tops of his eyes the way he always did when he wanted something. My youngest brother adopted the same action years later and we called it his "puppy dog" look because it rarely failed with Pa. "Can I have a candy?"

Pa motioned across the table. "I think that’s for your mother to answer."

Erik gave her the same look. "Ma, could I have a candy?"

"May I have a candy," Pa corrected.

Erik missed the point. "Pa want one, too." I continued to slice the cake though my hand shook as I tried not to laugh.

"Please," Pa added, trying to hold on to some semblance of politeness.

My brother’s look became earnest. "Pa wants it pwetty bad when’s he says please, Ma."

"I thought we might all have one," she answered. "I received them at the market."

"Ah." Pa nodded. "Lagniappe."

Erik had learned that word early on. "That’s when they gives you free something when you buy."

Mrs. de Marigny continued to smile at my brother. "You have learned very much in a short time, Erik."

"Uh huh," he nodded. "I can say behind in Frenches and German."

"But we aren’t going to," Pa instructed.

Erik turned on him disapprovingly. "Pa, we not gonna say butt, ‘member?"

Once again, Pa knew when he was licked. I watched Mrs. de Marigny and Pa exchange a look and I knew they were talking without words

The day after our birthday celebration we left New Orleans for the summer. Mrs. de Ville, Mrs. de Marigny, Erik and I rode in a carriage at the front of the entourage. Erik thought it was grand but I wanted to ride on the first work wagon with Pa and Thaddeus - and made my wishes known at the outset. Pa was developing that "look" of his and every time he used it it was a little more intimidating. By the time we headed for Mrs. de Ville’s country house, Pa’s "look" had matured to the point that he no longer had to say that slow, "Adam" very often. I asked once to please be allowed to ride with Thaddeus and him, he silently looked at me, and I trudged to the carriage making a point of kicking at the sidewalk.

When I stepped into the carriage, Erik was so excited he scampered from the doorway window to the seat window, to the other side of the seat. He stuck his head out the window opening and waved and shouted, "Hi, Pa! We going to da countries!"

Pa laughed and told Erik to pull his head back in before one of the gators ate it. Erik plopped down beside me, his legs sticking straight out in front of him, and asked, "We going to’s alley-gators, A-dam?"

I stretched my arm behind him. "Nah, we’re headed to dry ground, Erik. No gators and no fever. Nothing to be afraid of."

" ‘Cept if you don’t do’s what Pa say," my brother corrected.

"That’s not really something to be afraid of."

Erik’s eyes went as big as I’d seen them. "You tell Pa dat?"

I turned toward him and bent my left knee. "Tell Pa what?"

"Dat you not ‘fraid’s of him when you do’s bad?" Erik whispered.

Pausing to think about the best way to explain the concept to Erik, I appreciated how every time Pa spoke to us he was facing boys four years apart in age. He had to be sure Erik understood and no misconceptions occurred and at the same time he had to be careful not to talk down to me because nothing made me angry faster than to be treated like a child.

I leaned down so my face was closer to Erik’s. "I don’t like it when he shouts or gets upset or lectures me. And I sure as heck don’t like it when he spanks me. But he’s not going to hurt me. Does that make sense?"

Erik shook his head. "He hurt you bad wit his belt."

"I disobeyed him."

One of my brother’s small hands rested on my bent knee. "Disobey not goods," he said slowly.

I tousled his hair but I could tell he didn’t understand what I meant about Pa never really hurting me. After all, he cried when Pa gave him a cross look.

Erik leaned back against the carriage seat and imitated the way I often put my hands in the air. "Shoot, Pa makes sure we knows not to disobey when we babies."

Shoot? I’d never heard him say that before and I wondered where he had picked up the expression. We must have inherited our love of words from Pa. But while my appreciation of them directed me to books, newspapers, and even extended to maps so I could wonder what other countries were like, Erik’s delight in them led him to repeat some of the all-time funniest expressions - many of which he invented himself. Whenever those gathered around the Cartwright dinner table are reduced to tears as they howl in laughter it is almost invariably triggered by Erik’s playful sense of humor and his creative use of the English language.

After Erik’s and my serious talk we became aware of Mrs. de Ville and Mrs. de Marigny. Their presence caused me to pull in - but not Erik. He started his visit from window to window again and Pa caught on quickly when he saw that blonde head peek out one side and the other too frequently.

"Erik!" His voice carried over all the noise of the carriage and wagons. "Sit or I’ll see to it you can’t!"

My brother immediately scampered to sit beside me and even put his hands in his lap - the perfect picture of obedience. I leaned my head against the carriage wall and he looked up at me. "A-dam, you tell Pa I do’s like he say?"

I patted his shoulder. "Sure."

"Tank you."

In a matter of minutes his head rested across my legs and he was sound asleep.

Mrs. de Ville’s country house was impressive from the moment we saw it after we turned off the main road. We approached it through an alleyway of the tallest trees I had seen. As we drew closer even the peeling paint here and there, the lattice work that need repairing, the unattended gardens that held such promise once they were pruned, and the scattering of shallow reflecting pools with statuary in their centers - none of the signs of neglect diminished the beauty of the two-story house or its perfect setting with a river behind it. The river was not wide but Mrs. de Ville cautioned us that it was deep and we were only to play on the dock under an adult’s supervision.

The first time Erik and I entered the house we both stopped and gaped. Because of her long absence, Mrs. de Ville had covered everything in cotton fabric. Erik and I couldn’t confine our curiosity so we crawled under a cloth in the main hall. It didn’t take us long to realize we were beneath a huge round table. The next instant Mrs. de Marigny rolled the cotton back and our presence caused her to scream before she realized what she had found. Of course Pa came to her aid and saw the cause of her distress.

"You two need to come out here and tend to chores," he announced and we eased around Mrs. de Marigny.

Just because we were visiting didn’t release us from duties and they started immediately. Pa had Erik and me unload the tools that weren’t too heavy for us to lift from the wagons. That led to a good amount of speculation on our parts about what the purpose was for different items. We watched in awe as the men carried large pieces of lumber and containers of paint. Finally, after a long time, a man led the horses to the largest stables I’d been in. Pa gave Erik and me the job of tending the horses, getting water from a nearby pump, and feeding them. I’d learned all those skills on the trail because most of the time I had had to take care of the horses while Pa had built the campfire or had cooked dinner or had gone out to shoot dinner. Erik, too, had helped with horses since he had been little. Everybody had to do their share, and sometimes more, and we never thought of complaining - not that it would have done any good. The morning after we arrived at the country house we had to water the horses and clean out the stables. The chore became much hated but never argued about.

After our daily chores - mine included chopping kindling and helping in the house with whatever Mrs. de Ville or Mrs. de Marigny needed - Pa allowed us to roam the country within certain well-defined boundaries. We were not to walk to the road, past a tree line on our left, a field on our right, and we were not to go anywhere near the river. Pa made each of us repeat our boundaries and then released us to have fun. If he ever checked on us, I didn’t see him. Sometimes our free time was cut short because the men needed us to hold nails, or pass tools back and forth, or fetch things for them from the wagons. But none of that bothered us because, after all, only men got to do that kind of work.

Despite all Pa’s years of training us, which were kindly reinforced by Mrs. de Marigny, Erik and I sat down at the dining table and ate like ravenous wolf pups while we were in the country. I finished second servings and Erik, who had always had a healthy appetite, cleared his plate of third helpings. I don’t think Pa was too surprised by Erik’s appetite because my brother’s growth was becoming obvious to everyone. But I had always been a light eater - not picky because Pa didn’t tolerate that kind of behavior but I was never prone to an appetite like Erik’s. There in the country I looked up more that once and saw him studying me with a smile on his face. I smiled back and then resumed filling my stomach.

Erik and I had more fun in the country than we ever did in the city. We played any game you can imagine - hopscotch, hide and seek, and blind man’s bluff - and a number of games you would never recognize because they were elaborate Cartwright concoctions. In-between we climbed small trees, had footraces that I sometimes let Erik win, wrestled and tumbled on the trimmed part of the grass, tried to catch crickets, and many nights - with Pa’s permission - we spread a quilt on the grass near the porch and tried to count the stars. That last activity was a lost cause because one of us always giggled and the other always lost count. Then we argued about who had made whom lose track. Pa and Mrs. de Marigny usually sat in rocking chairs on the porch and his voice entered our world when our disputes increased in volume. "Boys, settle it now or go to bed." Glory! Sleeping was the last thing we wanted to do so we slugged each other on the arm, because Pa couldn’t see us doing that, and then started to count again.

I had a definite propensity toward horse theft at that time in my life and it surfaced again in early August. A distinguished-looking man rode up to visit Mrs. de Ville and while the two of them talked in the parlor, and Erik helped Mrs. de Marigny make pastry in the kitchen, I ambled over to the visitor’s horse and began to stroke and pet her. Then, as if in a dream, I unsaddled her. The saddle nearly knocked me off my feet. It was an odd one I later learned was English-style. I took the reins and led her to the steps that the women used to enter and exit the carriage.

I had more riding experience than Erik’s and my easy strolls with Good Boy. During Pa’s and my travels I mounted bareback horses more than once and raced with friends. I was fully aware that Pa would at the least dress me down as if I were an impudent sailor and more than likely swat my bottom until I yelped - which didn’t take long given his strength. I knew as surely as I was breathing the consequences for what I did that day. It didn’t stop me for a moment.

Getting used to the mare, and more importantly her sensing I was comfortable on her back, took no time at all. We made the circuit within my established boundaries a few times and then I could feel it in her muscles: she wanted to run as much as I wanted her to. There I was a slender nine-year-old riding without a saddle atop a full-grown, fast horse. Not that I knew she was fast at the time. But I found out.

I gave her the signal that I was ready and then I was part of the wind, climbing to the clouds. No telling who was enjoying the run more. Her gait was so smooth I wanted to release the reins, lean back and scream for joy. I knew better because I believe she could have taken me back to New Orleans without breaking into a lather.

We were so absorbed in our pleasure, repeatedly making that circuit, we didn’t notice the audience we drew. Well, maybe she did but I didn’t until I slowed her to end the run and we passed the men gathered by the outbuildings. I twisted my neck and there stood Mrs. de Ville and the horse’s owner. Mrs. de Marigny and Erik were on the front porch. I had no idea where Pa was and didn’t much care if I found him.

I slid off the horse’s back, lifted the saddle, and adjusted it to the best of my ability considering my height.

"My Lord, boy!" Mrs. de Ville’s visitor exclaimed behind me. "Where do you race? New Orleans?"

The thought of racing, and Pa’s disapproval, scared me to the bottom of my boots. I turned and made eye contact. "No, sir. I don’t race."

The man hooked his thumbs in his vest pockets. "Well then, boy, you were born in the saddle."

"No, sir. I was born in Boston."

He laughed and turned toward Mrs. de Ville. "Who does this boy belong to?"

"He’s my son," Pa answered from behind me and his strong hands rested on my shoulders. "I’m not sure they aren’t going to hang him for horse theft when we get to California." He popped me gently on the bottom. "Return Mr. Alexander’s horse to him, Adam."

I passed the reins to Mr. Alexander and explained that the saddle was not as secure as it needed to be. He smiled down at me.

"I’m on my way to Natchez but I’ll be back in New Orleans in November." He tightened the saddle. "How would you like to exercise her for me?"

Had I heard him right? I gulped and hoped he couldn’t see my heart slamming to get out. "Exercise her? Yes, sir."

He tipped his hat to Mrs. de Ville. "I will see you then, Daphne." He rode off with a wave to the rest of us.

Daphne? Mrs. de Ville had a first name?

Surprises were falling around me like the snowflakes I’d seen once on the prairie. They didn’t stop.

Pa released my shoulders and walked around me. He sat on his heels so he could look at my face. "You promise me you haven’t been at the racetracks?"

I shook my head so strongly the front of my hair fell onto my forehead. "No, Pa. I mean, yes, Pa. I mean I haven’t been at the racetracks."

He laughed and hugged me. "That ride was beautiful." He held up his index finger in warning. "But if you ever ride without my permission again I’ll spank your bottom"

I nodded that I understood. I decided then and there that, as soon as I could, I would get a horse.

At a slow, easy pace that seemed to mirror the river and the way of life, the repairs became noticeable and Erik and I began to know the workmen. They all introduced themselves by their first names but we explained repeatedly that we weren’t allowed to address grown-ups that way. So we knew them as men like Mr. Dierdorf, whose carpentry work I could have watched all day if there hadn’t been so much else to do; Mr. Fleming, who was the only man I knew who could drive a nail with one swing from a hammer the way Pa did; and Mr. Zeiger, who sanded wood until it was so smooth it felt like cloth. They were just a few of the men who slept in the quarters away from the house. Mrs. de Marigny cooked three meals a day for them but they made their own coffee because they claimed there hadn’t been a woman born who could make good coffee. Mrs. de Marigny just smiled and took it in stride.

Speaking of sleeping arrangements, Mrs. de Marigny and Pa did not want Erik and me going up and down the substantial staircase to reach the second floor so our room was on the first floor. We shared a bed that, although it wasn’t as large as the one in Mrs. de Ville’s New Orleans house, was just as soft. Next to the bed was a tall window and if we raised the lower section we could walk out to the front porch clean as a whistle. It was too much of a temptation for two boys like Erik and me. I think it was during the first week of our visit, certainly not much later, that we waited until everyone was asleep and slid the already-opened window up high enough to walk out to the porch. We thought we had gotten away with something and that was more fun than being outside. We each sat down in a rocking chair and rocked - well I had to keep giving Erik’s chair nudges. Then after a while we tiptoed back into our room and ran to jump onto the bed.

What we didn’t know, because we had been outside our room, was that Pa lay on the bed waiting for us to return. When we fell from the air, all bony elbows and knees, we landed on Pa and knocked the air out of him. I nearly peed on the bed because of our unexpected visitor.

Erik screamed and scrambled off the bed but Pa’s unmistakable laugh broke loose and I heard Erik swat at him.

"Dat not funny, Pa," he scolded.

"Erik?" Even in the darkness I could tell Pa was frowning. "Did you wet the bed?"

"Maybe just a wittle," came the embarrassed response.

"Glory, Pa. What are you doing in here?" I sat cross-legged.

Erik sounded like he thought I’d lost my brain. "Shoot, him’s here ta scare us."

"Shoot?" Pa inquired.

My brother’s voice lowered. "Dat not a bad word, Pa. I ask Ma."

Pa was silhouetted in the dim moonlight. He sat up slowly and held a hand against his right side. "So you two discovered how to go out the window?"

Erik sat in Pa’s lap, as carefree as a robin in spring. It was not as warm in the country as in New Orleans, for one thing there was more breeze, and usually if we ran through the grass first thing in the morning dew twinkled like diamonds on our bare feet. So Pa, too, was in a cotton shirt and I could see his strong arms through the sleeves. He patted Erik’s back.

"Don’t go out the window again," he said softly.

I answered "yes, Pa" but Erik did a quarter turn and asked, "How come’s not?"

Pa answered that they hadn’t worked on our window yet.

"What’s dat mean?" Erik continued.

"It means," he explained as he finger-combed Erik’s curly hair, "that it could slide down and hurt you or it could slide down and break all the glass."

Erik shook his head. "You spanks us fer sure’s den."

I wasn’t thinking about spankings. I was thinking about what Pa was - flying, shattered glass slicing into skin. But if worry about a spanking would keep Erik away from the window then so be it.

"Pa?" I could see Erik snuggle up to Pa’s chest. "You tell’s a quiet story?"

Pa chuckled ever so slightly and then held his side again. "I already told you your quiet story for tonight."

"But den you scares me and I needs anudder quiet story."

"All right," Pa agreed. "But it needs to be a short one." Heavens but Erik could get just about anything he wanted out of Pa.

"Adam." Even in the soft light of the sliver of a moon I saw Pa point to the pillow. I crawled on my knees and did as he ordered. "Lay down, Erik."

"Moves over, A-dam." Erik pushed at my right arm with his hands.

"Moves - move over! You’ve got your half of the bed."

"Well - but - dere’s a wittle bit dat’s wet."

I sat up. "That’s your problem. I didn’t wet it."

Erik crossed his arms and his hair looked like down against the moonlight. "Den I not’s gonna sleep wit’ you."

"Fine by me."

I was a nine-year-old arguing with a five-year-old. There was no way on Earth I had a chance of winning.

"A-dam," Erik pleaded. "You got’s to let me sleep wif you."

"I don’t got’s - I don’t have to do nothing - anything."

"I can’t sleeps if I don’t has you."

"I think if you boys will put your pillow at the foot of the bed you’ll find you can each have your half and the wittle - little wet place won’t bother you." I heard the humor in Pa’s voice.

Erik pulled at my arm. "Wet’s twy it, A-dam."

"If you pee again you sleep on the floor." I slammed the pillow down near the foot of the bed.

Erik’s temper flared, too. "Da onlyest reason I pee is ‘cause Pa scare me. You knows I don’t pee in da bed and you’s being mean."

"If you don’t get quiet I’m going to stuff a boot in your mouth," I warned.

"If you do’s dat, Pa spanks your butt," Erik challenged.

"Behind," Pa reminded from the darkness.

Erik was a little too angry and he forgot who he was talking to. "I say’s behind!" he snapped.

Pa entered the conversation and there was growing aggravation in his voice. "I distinctly heard you say butt, young man."

I hid my face in the pillow. If Erik didn’t come around really fast, Pa was going to skewer him good.

"You shouldn’t oughta talk when I talking to A-dam," Erik reminded. "I not talkin’ ta you."

Oooh, this was getting so bad I inched away from him. If Pa reached for a bottom I didn’t want him to find mine by mistake.

"I distinctly heard you say butt, and you will do well to hush, young man. Put your head on that pillow."

"Pa!" Erik protested. "I not stinky say."

I went up on my elbows, wondering what he was talking about and Pa was as puzzled as I was. I could just imagine his forehead wrinkling as he asked, "What?"

"You say’s you hear me stinky say and I not stinky say."

Pa caught on sooner than I did and, despite Erik’s disrespect, he broke into his roaring, contagious laugh that he couldn’t stop if you held a pistol on him. Every time he tried to control himself he wiped his eyes and then laughed again. Finally he let his head hang down as he gasped for air.

Erik’s anger rose again. "I hope’s you’s through laughin’ at me’s."

Pa motioned to the pillow. "Settle down, son, and I’ll tell you a quiet story."

"No. I want’s to know why’s you say I stinky say."

I was kind of curious myself.

Poor man. Pa was lost in laughter again. Erik slid down from the bed and stomped back and forth across the room. "You’s being mean." He did what I was recognizing as his soldier walk and then he waved his index finger in front of Pa. "You’s tell me what dis stinky talk is or I’s - " Right about then he remembered he was talking to Pa and he spoke about as sweetly as a boy can. "Please, Pa? Tell’s me?"

Pa coughed and cleared his throat and then coughed again. "Distinctly is another word for clearly. I clearly heard you say something."

Oh, that was it.

"What you hear’s me say?" Erik was more confused.

"What?"

"What you hear’s me say?"

"Oh no you don’t." Pa lifted Erik by the waist and put him beside me. "No more night wandering, boys."

I managed a "yes, Pa" and Erik repeated my response although he sounded extremely perplexed.

"On your tummies now," Pa instructed. After we obeyed he rubbed our backs and told us a quiet story. Neither one of us heard the end of it.

Other than watering and feeding the horses, cleaning out the stables, chopping kindling, helping in the kitchen, sweeping our room, taking care of our chamber pot, being sure our clothes were available to be washed and then properly taken care of once they were clean, and helping with errands for Mrs. de Marigny or Pa, there wasn’t much asked of us as the weeks passed at Mrs. de Ville’s country home.

Sometimes when Erik and I were played out, or had a few extra minutes before we set the table or helped prepare for the meals in some other way, we sat on the grass - far enough from where the men worked - and silently watched. They were all strong like Pa and didn’t say much except when they needed extra hands to help lift or hold something in place, or had a question for Pa or one another. Despite their austerity, they always smiled at Erik or me and never failed to say "good morning" or "good evening." Several times they remarked about how good a cook Mrs. de Marigny was or how the work was coming along. Nearly every time Pa caught sight of us sitting and watching he walked over and asked how our day had been. Erik told him every detail while I sat quietly wondering if Pa was getting the wrong impression of some of our adventures.

Even though I usually didn’t say a word Pa smiled and touched my hair and teased about cutting it before it got as long as a horse’s mane. The way he looked at me was different from all the years before when he had reached to brush my hair aside and I had seen a deep sadness in his eyes. After he married Mrs. de Marigny his eyes rarely showed unhappiness.

After Pa’s prank of scaring us in our bed I worried that Mrs. de Marigny might not appreciate our Cartwright mischief or our ability to turn just about any serious situation into giggles and shaking shoulders. I shouldn’t have been concerned.

My first solid clue of her sense of humor came when I learned that Mrs. de Marigny couldn’t skip. I walked out of the kitchen one morning and saw Erik very patiently trying to teach her. His approach, his tone of voice, even his movements were so much like Pa’s with us that I leaned on one of the back porch columns and watched.

"But I can not do this," Mrs. de Marigny protested. She held her cotton skirt up so she could see her shoes.

Erik shook his head. "Ma, you never knows until you tries."

"I have been trying since breakfast." She tossed her head and the green ribbon that held her hair at the back of her neck bounced. "How long does this skipping take?"

At first I thought she was humoring Erik. But then I watched and, I swear, she couldn’t skip.

"A-dam." Erik waved to me when he turned around and saw me. "Ma can’t skips. Dis is bad."

For a boy who skipped just about everywhere he went, including down the occasional church aisle, her lack of the skill was a disaster.

"We got’s to helps her. What’s if Pa find out?"

Behind him Mrs. de Marigny smiled at me and I shyly returned the smile. "All right. Let me show her."

We must have tried to teach her for an hour with no results. Eventually the three of us sat on the back porch steps and laughed until our sides hurt. I was amazed she understood we were not laughing at her but at her infirmity. Pa walked around the corner of the house looking up at the columns and then his eyes shot down to us.

"Pa," Erik said with an emphatic shake of his head. "Ma can’t skips but we keeps her anyhow?"

Pa licked his upper lip and leaned on a piece of wood he was carrying. "Oh, I think we can cut her some slack."

Erik frowned and Mrs. de Marigny and I rolled our eyes at each other.

"What you cuts?"

"Don’t worry about it."

My little brother was happy again. "Pa say not to worry," he informed Mrs. de Marigny as if she hadn’t been able to hear the conversation.

"I have it on pretty good authority that she can jump rope," Pa added. He grinned at her and winked.

"Benjamin," she scolded.

Erik and I didn’t need any more encouragement; after all we were boys accustomed to activity from dawn to nightfall. We ran for the jump rope and came out of the house in exuberant expectation. Since Erik was shorter than me, Pa took the opposite end of the rope and we swung it. Mrs. de Marigny watched, got the rhythm, and then she was in there - jumping like I hadn’t seen anyone do. She kept jumping, never tripped or lost her concentration, and didn’t even have to stop to catch her breath. Finally she jumped out of the loop we were making with the rope. "You think this is good?" she asked a spellbound Erik.

"You teaches me dat?" he requested.

She patted his shoulder. "Tomorrow. Now I must make to cook the lunch. You will roll out the dough?"

Erik had developed a big interest in rolling out anything that involved lots of flour so he could, as he put it, "look likes a man of snow." The only way he could have known about a snowman was from the stories Pa told us and that was a testament to how vivid Pa’s tales were. Come to think of it, except for one or two stories I had read, it was the only way I knew about snowmen, too, at the time.

Glory did I learn about that white stuff after we established our ranch!

As I said, Erik’s and my boundaries were large and we did not challenge Pa about them. I realize now that he never told us what would happen if we disobeyed him - which, believe me, is not Pa’s typical approach. You listen carefully to his orders and if you’re smart you listen even more carefully to the consequences for not following them.

Erik and I separated one morning - Erik helped Mrs. de Marigny clean up the flowerbeds while I explored the edge of the grass field - and after a while Pa called to me. I ran to him and breathlessly assured him I hadn’t gone too far and he answered he was sure I hadn’t.

Only then did I notice the rifle and other hunting gear in his hand. He asked me if I thought I could bring in a couple of rabbits for dinner and, buoyed by his trust, I assured him I could bring in a dozen. He grinned at me and said he thought a dozen was more than Mrs. de Marigny needed and suggested I might stop with five or six. I asked him how far I might venture and he pointed to the east and said no more than a mile and under no condition near the river. I said a quick "Yes, Pa", checked the rifle, and set out by myself.

I don’t know if people who grow up in cities develop a sense of distance and direction but if you don’t in the country you can get into a lot of trouble faster than you think possible. From the time I’d been old enough to sit beside him, Pa had pointed out a landmark and told me how far away it was. In the beginning I didn’t understand numbers. But as I attended schools along the way, and as Inger and Pa added to that education, I became so good at approximating distances that Pa often relied on me. The same was never true when it came to direction, though. I am good but I’m convinced you could tie a bandana over Pa’s eyes, turn him around until he is dizzy, and the minute you quit turning him he could point due north. I take solace in the fact that Pa’s horse drawings still resemble the ones Erik did when he was four-years-old in New Orleans.

About a quarter of a mile into my hunting trip I wished I had brought Thaddeus with me. But given the choice between digging and flushing game - well, that was just no choice as far as he was concerned. As I walked along, a covey of birds flew up in my face. If you’ve ever had that happen and your liver didn’t shoot out your throat you are dead. I thought about trying for one of them but knew I was not that good a shot. Pa was but I wasn’t.

After a few more yards I found a rabbit and took the first step in putting it on the dinner table. I reloaded the rifle and set out again.

I have always loved hunting - more for the chance to be by myself than to put an end to any creature’s existence. There is satisfaction in knowing your efforts will feed your family, don’t get me wrong. But when I’m out, whether it be on the flat prairies or climbing in rocky country shaded by towering pine trees, time slows and I can think things through and sometimes see problems with a different perspective. A quiet voice speaks to you if you listen. You begin to recognize the beauty and variety of wildlife, plants, skies, and even the air. Every time I am out like that, especially if I stay overnight and doze by a campfire, I can hear Pa reading my favorite Psalm to us: "Fret not thyself because of the ungodly neither be though envious against the evil doers - Delight thou in the Lord, and He shall give thee thy heart’s desire." My heart’s desire is there in the out-of-doors and I have been fortunate to always have it near.

That day when I went hunting I had new territory to explore - territory that had been forbidden to me before Pa had approached with the rifle and gear. I wanted to prove his trust in me was well founded. I knew I had to stay alert to certain movements that could indicate a predator. But at the same time I pretended to fly with a hawk and envied him his amazing vision that could spot a mouse from far away. I whistled to a bird in the top of a tree and danced a jig Pa had taught me when it sang back to me. I sat on my heels and stuck a twig in an ant mound just to upset them. And I froze when I saw a snake in a clearing - at least until a quick observation of the shape of his head, his color, the slit in his eye and any pattern on his back assured me he was harmless. Then I wondered why I always considered all snakes male.

I won’t say I made quick work of my hunting expedition but as my stomach told me it was time for the mid-day meal I turned back toward the house proudly carrying five rabbits. Pa met me at the fringe of the high grass and between laughs and slaps on the back led me to one of the outbuildings, telling me he thought it would be better if I took care of the preparation away from Erik’s eyes. Even though my brother knew we had to have meat for survival when we left the area east of the Missouri and traveled to New Orleans, Erik cried if he saw Pa or me skin and prepare an animal. More times than not I wondered if he’d ever be able to hunt.

After the meal, and after I had the rabbits ready for the kitchen, I carried them into the large brick building. Mrs. de Marigny looked up at me from storing bread and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. Her eyes must have darted from the rabbits to me four or five times.

"I offer you the apology," she said softly.

I laid the rabbits on the cutting area of a big table. "Ma’am?"

"Benjamin told me you were good with the rifle but - " She smiled and her face flushed pink. "I worried for you going out alone. It is a great responsibility and there are many dangers."

"Yes, ma’am." I felt awkward with her attention directed my way. "But Pa taught me and he’s real good."

She handed me a large, sharp knife. "Would you perhaps help me?"

I was not accustomed to saying "no" to an adult. I told her I would help before I knew what she needed.

"You would cut the rabbit as it should be? You know how to do this?" She stepped closer - ready to instruct if I did not.

"Yes, ma’am. Pa taught me that, too." I looked down at the knife. I had never seen one so big. I figured it could slice off a finger before I felt it.

"Oh, how I am not thoughtful," Mrs. de Marigny threw a hand in the air as she scolded herself. "You can not work if you do not have the correct knife." She took the one she had handed me and replaced it with an equally sharp but smaller one. "This," she said as she brandished the first knife, "it is for the large meats. The cattle, the hams, this sort of thing." She leaned across the table and her face filled with a mischief I had never witnessed. "Sometimes there are the people in New Orleans I would like to dispatch with this knife but," she paused and shrugged her shoulders, "quel dommage, it is against the law."

I laughed with her, knowing as she did that she would never do such a thing.

"What you do’s?" Erik entered the kitchen demanding to be included.

I motioned to the stool across from me. "Sit down and be quiet and I’ll show you how to get a rabbit ready for cooking."

"A-dam," he lamented as he made his way to the seat. "You kill’s them?"

I started to make a crack about it being better than cooking them while they were alive but I knew that would send my little brother into horror-stricken tears.

He motioned to my hand. "Dat knife pwetty big’s."

I tapped his nose. "That’s why you won’t get near it, right?"

He bounced a little and declared, "I likes da countries."

Mrs. de Marigny wrapped the bread in a cloth and tilted her head. "Moi, aussi, Erik."

My brother wiggled his head back and forth and held his chin up. "I knows what’s dat mean. It mean ‘me, too.’ "

I was embarrassed and, I admit it, jealous. There was that little half-pint of a boy who couldn’t even speak proper English learning French while I had only given it an occasional thought even when Mrs. de Ville had taught us.

"Dere’s fleur and dat’s a flower. And chien dat’s a dog. And - and - dere’s frere. Dat sound pwetty funny, huh? But dat’s what we are. We brothers."

No matter what other word he slaughtered, and he could destroy words on a massive scale, Erik never mispronounced brother. Neither did our youngest brother when he started talking. I’ve always wondered if there’s significance in that fact or if it’s just an easy word to say.

Mrs. de Marigny spoke as she wiped her hands on her apron. "Your French improves each day, Erik."

On the spur of the moment I asked if she would teach Pa and me French, too.

"But of course," she answered. "We start tonight."

I only thought I had laughed before.

All right, Erik loved French words and was like he always had been - a parrot. He picked them up so easily that Pa and I got frustrated because of our slow pace. We could sort of understand them in context when Mrs. de Marigny spoke - Pa more so than me because he had spent more time with her - but when we tried to say the words Mrs. de Marigny, Mrs. de Ville, and even Erik fought to hide their smiles and giggles. At first I thought Pa was acting miserable at it to make me feel better but I quickly learned that was not the case. He could say madame and monsieur passably well and a few words he had learned at work like merci for thank you. But the more we struggled the less successful we were. Finally we gave in to laughter at how ridiculous we sounded - and once Pa and I get started laughing it’s hard for us to stop.

"I make a suggestion," Mrs. de Marigny said after Pa and I had settled. "I teach you three words each night. This will work?"

"Pray to God," Pa responded, shaking his head.

Erik walked to Pa, rested his little hands on Pa’s thighs, and frowned. "God can’t help’s wit dis. Ya got’s ta do it all by’s yerself."

He was lecturing Pa. I broke into laughter again.

Pa teasingly gave Erik his own frown back. "Are you telling me what to do?"

Erik straightened up. "You need’s somebody to do’s it." He yelped and struggled as Pa picked him up, laid him on his back across Pa’s knees and tickled him until he hiccupped.

"I guess that means you don’t want a story tonight," Pa said.

Erik scrambled off Pa’s knees to the floor to sit beside me and assured Pa he was all ready and asked him to make it one about the sea. Pa looked at the ceiling as he thought and then he told us about an adventure he had with a man named Angus. He stretched the truth so far I didn’t believe him. At least not until I later met Angus and then I conceded that probably everything Pa told us was true.

When the story ended we went to our room, washed up, and got ready for bed. Then we decided to play pirates. I, of course, was the captain. We were below deck, or under the bed if you choose to be more accurate, when Pa entered the room. There was only one way in and out of our room since we had been instructed not to use the window and we watched his boots walk around the room. Finally he stood in front of our bed, we nodded at each other and each pulled on one.

I don’t know what we thought would happen. I’m not sure we even thought. Pa’s feet went out from under him, he fell on his back on the rug, Mrs. de Marigny and Mrs. de Ville ran into the room, and Erik and I pushed as far as we could go against the back wall as we tried to disappear.

"Oh, mon Dieu, you are all right, Benjamin?" Mrs. de Marigny asked.

"I’m fine, Marie. Why don’t you go on up to bed? I’ll be there in a few minutes."

It was Mrs. de Ville’s turn to ask if he was sure he was not hurt.

"I tripped on the rug," he answered.

Mrs. de Marigny sounded suspicious. "Where are the boys?"

A look must have passed between them because the two women left the room and Pa stood. I doubt there were ever two more meek sinners to show their faces. We peeked from under the bad and Pa silently crooked his finger for us to come to him. We did so with our hands protectively covering our bottoms.

"Do you want to tell me what you were thinking?" Pa sat in the chair by our small dressing table and waited patiently.

When we both mutely looked down Pa continued. "Do you understand you can hurt someone doing that?"

I answered "yes, Pa" for both of us because Erik was orphaned in his grief.

I walked slowly to the bed - embarrassed that Pa had corrected me, however mildly. Erik ran, threw himself beside me on the bed, and sobbed inconsolably into the pillow.

Pa muttered and walked to us. I put my back against the wall because I wasn’t sure what he was about to do.

Erik had no such reservations. He looked up at Pa with tears running down his cheeks. "You still wuv me?"

Pa’s voice softened and he patted Erik’s back. "I shout and scold and even spank you sometimes but there has never been a day in your life when I didn’t love you. Can you understand that?"

"Den you tells me quiet story?" Erik requested. He sniffled and wiped at his nose. If he’d been a little older I would have thought he was a pretty good actor.

Pa raised his eyebrow and sat on our bed beside Erik. "Alright, a quiet story. Come closer so I can rub your back, Adam."

He motioned when I looked at him suspiciously. "Come on, son."

I rested my head on the pillow and listened to the quiet story. As soon as Erik fell asleep, Pa stopped. He reached over Erik and touched my face. "You know there hasn’t been a day of your life when I haven’t loved you, don’t you?"

The words restored my soul. Half asleep, I nodded and then pushed deeper into the pillow. "What’s the rest of the story?"

Pa kept his hand on my face and I never heard the end of that story, either.

A few nights later, Pa told us exciting news. He had set aside the next day for the three of us to do anything we wanted. He grinned at us and then kissed us good night. The minute he closed the door Erik and I sat up in the dark and planned adventures like climbing trees and having footraces and building with the scraps of lumber the workmen had given us and having a picnic. What started out as whispered chatter soon grew louder and a soft light appeared in the space under our door. Pa stepped in, holding a lantern in his left hand. He didn’t have a grin on his face but he wasn’t frowning. I later learned it was his poker face and, trust me, even those who know him best can’t read it.

Erik and I worriedly waited. But the scolding never came.

"If you two boys don’t get to sleep you’ll be too tired for tomorrow."

"No we won’ts, Pa."

I looked down and shook my head.

"How about you, Adam? How much later do you think you can stay up before you’ll be too tired to do your chores in the morning?"

I raised my head. "I probably ought to get to sleep."

That’s when he smiled and nodded. "You probably should. Good night, boys."

We told him good night and lay down as he closed the door. We were quiet for about three seconds before we started whispering again.

"Boys." Pa stretched out the word for added emphasis.

In the moonlight we made mock big eyes at each other and then slapped our hands over our mouths as we giggled.

The light remained at the bottom of our door and we heard Pa say with a hint of laughter in his voice, "Lord help me."

We giggled some more and then rolled over to go to sleep.

Some days stand out in my memory so clearly I can feel the air, hear the sounds, and see everything happening as if I were there again. That day we shared with Pa in the country is one of those memories. The sky was the color of a bluebird’s feathers. The air was warm and unusually dry for Louisiana so it felt good as it blew through my hair and touched my skin. There were so many different smells - summer grass, the heavy perfume of flowering vines, the fertile smell of the river beyond the levees on which the house was built, the slightly musty scent under ageless trees where the soil hadn’t seen daylight for years, the tease of wood smoke from the kitchen chimney, and the unmistakable pungency of the new paint on the house and shutters.

Erik and I had planned at least fifty things for our day with Pa. We only did a few of them - footraces, hide and seek, and a picnic. The rest of the day was spontaneous. Pa started a dirt clod fight that would have filled Mrs. de Marigny with horror if she had seen it. Above the neck was off limits - and a certain distance below the waist. But everything else was vulnerable. Erik and I were gentle with Pa at first but after he bombarded us we screamed and yelled like Indians with every dirt clod we threw. It was the closest thing to war I’ve ever known. Erik found a small mud hole and that inspired us to build little mud houses - which quickly deteriorated into smearing mud on each other’s faces. We had to wrestle Pa to the ground to reach his face but he was a good sport about it. The gooey stuff dried and cracked in no time so most of it flaked off. It was necessary to encourage it out of our hair though. We were walking under the oaks, looking for a place to have our picnic, when I spotted a huge dried vine hanging from a tree. I ran toward it with the full intention of swinging on it but Pa told me to stop. I frowned at him but obeyed. He handed me the woven basket that held our lunch and then wrapped his large hands around the vine and pulled it so hard his arm muscles bulged under his shirtsleeves.

"If it can hold me it can hold you," he said. Which was his way of giving me permission.

I couldn’t return the basket to him fast enough. I ran, grabbed the vine with my hands and swung as far as I could. I wrapped my shins around it and climbed several feet up then kicked against the tree trunk and yelled "Ahoy there, mates!"

Pa sketched a salute and beside him Erik peered up at me and shouted, "Is you’s a pirate?"

"I am at that, laddie. And when I climb down this rope and get you I’m going to feed you to the alligators."

Erik screamed and ran two trees away from me. His grin was just like Pa’s.

I jumped to the ground and stalked toward Erik with my arms outstretched. "Come here, little boy. Let me help you swing on the vine."

Erik screamed again and dashed ahead of me. I followed him at a slow, scary pace. He giggled and yelped and then I allowed him to sprint past me so he could run to Pa’s legs. "You got’s to help me’s, Pa! He gonna gives me to the alley-gators."

Pa was grown up but there was still some boy in him. He picked up a good-sized branch that lay by the tree and threw me another. "I’ll defend you, laddie," he said to Erik.

I gripped the branch and Pa and I charged into one heck of a sword fight. Well, it was a sword fight until I made a strong swing and Pa jerked up his sword. My sword hit him so hard on the side of his thigh he flinched. I went as straight as a board and dropped my stick as if it were hot metal.

Pa’s expression turned from pained to dangerously mischievous. He bent forward and waved his sword in front of me. And then he laughed before saying, "I’ve been waiting for this."

I didn’t have time to bend to retrieve my sword and I wasn’t much inclined to. Instead I ran around to the other side the tree trunk.

"You can’t escape," Pa said in a singsong voice. I knew he was teasing - well, I was pretty sure he was teasing.

"Get’s A-dam, Pa!" Erik cheered.

My own brother was cheering for Pa against me?

I eased around the enormous trunk, keenly listening to Pa’s steps as he followed me. When I was at the front again, thinking I was safe, I reached down with my left hand for the branch I had dropped. I should have known better. Pa popped my bottom and cackled in victory.

I jerked up with my hand on the seat of my pants. The pop burned like fire.

Pa leaned his right shoulder against the tree trunk and tossed the branch from his left hand.

"You did that left-handed?" I gaped.

He tilted his head back and looked at me from the bottoms of his eyes. "Well, I didn’t want to hurt you."

I threw my branch aside and ran toward him to knock him off his feet. But Pa was faster than I was. He lifted me under the arms and swung me around. I thought I was pretty big until then. When he finished swinging me he held me close to him with his right arm and put his left palm on the top of my head. "You’re growing too fast."

"I’ll be as tall as you are in no time," I bragged.

He put me on my feet and patted my stinging bottom. "We’ll see."

"I will." I looked up at him as we walked side-by-side toward Erik. "I’ll be even taller than you."

He bowed at me. "Whatever you say, Sir Adam." He clapped his hands toward Erik. "Think you can carry that basket?"

Erik was affronted and said he could carry anything Pa could. He hauled the basket in front of him with both hands and nearly stumbled over it before we found a grassy area near a small tree. I know some people take a quilt to sit on but we were men - green grass was all we needed. Pa rested his back against the tree trunk and Erik and I sat on either side of him. We discussed anything that occurred to us while we ate and for once Pa didn’t scold us for talking with our mouths full. Erik got so tickled about a joke Pa told that his drink of water spewed out his nose. I fell on my back as I laughed at my little brother’s response. I think Pa tried not to laugh but his shoulders shook and he quickly looked down.

Every picnic has to end with wrestling. Erik and I started it and then we both fell onto Pa. He put up a good fight but we soundly defeated him.

I knew what would happen next. It never failed. His tummy full, played out, and a breeze blowing on him as he sat beside Pa - Erik’s head nodded and he nearly fell over. Pa lifted Erik into his lap. He leaned my brother’s head against his chest and Erik was out like a lantern. Pa ran his hand through Erik’s golden hair. "He’s growing as much as you are."

What worried me was that he was closing the gap faster than I wanted.

"Pa?" I asked softly.

"Um?" He turned his attention to me as he stroked Erik’s hair.

"Why doesn’t Mrs. de Ville live out here? It’s a lot better than New Orleans."

"What makes you say that?"

I shrugged. "It’s not crowded or noisy and it’s sure not as damp." I came up with a great idea. "Maybe we could move out here."

Pa laughed deep in his throat. "Who would you play with?"

That was obvious. I answered him, wondering if he was tired and not thinking. "Erik."

"You don’t think Erik and you would get tired of each other?" He tilted his head and watched me.

I threw the last of my sandwich as far as I could so a bird could finish it off. "We haven’t gotten tired of each other yet, have we?"

"You’re getting sassy." Pa put his warm left hand around my neck.

I squinted my right eye as I looked up at him. "Is that new?"

He laughed deeply and guided my head to his left thigh, alongside Erik. "Your eyes are fighting to stay open."

No way I was as sleepy as a little kid. I pulled against Pa’s hand but he was stronger and I was soon resting my head alongside Erik’s legs.

"He kicks in his sleep, Pa. He’s liable to knock my teeth out," I warned. And then no matter how hard I tried not to, I yawned.

Pa’s left hand patted my chest. "I’ll see to it he doesn’t."

When I finally woke up, I raised my eyes toward Pa’s face. He was sound asleep. I wasn’t accustomed to sleeping in the middle of the day so it took me a while to pull out of my grogginess. I rubbed at my eyes and then sat up slowly so I wouldn’t wake up Pa. I stood up, stretched, and decided I’d do a little exploring.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

I whirled. Pa looked at me with his left eye and motioned beside him. "Adam."

"Pa," I whined. "I’m tired of sitting around."

His right eye opened. "Stay where I can see you."

"Yes, Pa." I ran as fast as I could and stopped. With my hands on my hips I cockily asked, "Can you still see me?"

"You’re in for the tickling of your life when your brother wakes up," he warned.

He wasn’t kidding. After Erik finally joined the living, and Pa led him toward some privacy so he could relieve himself, Pa raced after me. He was as fast as a deer and he swept me off my feet. I hollered out, "No, Pa!" I may as well have saved my breath. He sat on the ground, laid me across his knees, and tickled until I gasped that I was going to wet my trousers.

Pa released me and winked. "Need me to go with you?"

I gave him what I hoped was a withering look. "Stars above, Pa. I’m not some little boy like Erik."

"Who’s you call a little boy?" Erik challenged. He walked straight to me. "I won’t be’s little soon’s and - and - "

I leaned down until my face was even with his. "Yes?"

He stuck out his chin and declared, "And then’s I be bigger’s than you’s."

"Yeah? Well I’ll always be oldest."

"Ut uh."

"Uh huh."

"Oh yeah’s?"

"Yeah. Just ask Pa." I needed to find some privacy quickly.

"Pa?" Erik asked as I walked away. "Is dat true’s? A-dam always be’s oldest?"

"Yes, Erik."

"Dat’s not fair."

"There’s nothing I can do about it."

"Bet der is. Bet you’s don’t wants to."

"When did you start saying ‘bet’?"

"A-dam say it all’s the times."

"I do not!" I yelled over my shoulder as I stood near some bushes.

"Well, den, maybe’s I hear it somewheres else."

"Maybe you did," Pa agreed. "Who’ve you been around that bets?"

"Pa." Erik sounded like he was speaking to a slow-witted child. "A-dam and me bets all the times on things."

"We do not!" I once again yelled over my shoulder. He was about to get us both hung by our necks.

"Do’s too!" he shouted. "We bet’s on games and races and - "

Glory he was going to have Pa thinking the worst before I could button my trousers. "Wait a minute, Pa. I’ll tell you what he’s talking about."

"I’ll be interested to hear."

I ran back to them. Pa was stretched out on the grass, propped up on his right elbow with his left leg bent at the knee. Erik sat cross-legged on Pa’s right side. I kneeled beside Erik and then sat back on my boot heels. Before I could say anything, Pa passed me a napkin he had poured water on and motioned for me to wipe my hands.

"We bet when we’re playing games but we don’t bet." I thought that would explain everything.

Pa’s face was a study in confusion. "You bet but you don’t bet?"

"Yes, Pa."

He shook his head. "How do you do that?"

"You know." I waved a hand. "I say I bet him he can’t do something and he says he bets me he can and he either does or he doesn’t and if he does he wins and if he doesn’t then I win. And if he wins he gets to say he bets I can’t do something and if I win –" I stopped when Pa held his left hand up with his palm facing me.

"As long as you aren’t betting anything."

"You mean like money or something like that?" I ventured.

"Or something like that."

"Pa, we don’t have any money to bet with."

He blinked and gave me the funniest look.

"I mean not that we would if we did."

"I would hope not."

"If I had’s money, I get’s candy." Erik rubbed his tummy.

Pa grinned and then asked me what I would do if I had money.

"How much?"

"How much?" Pa repeated.

"What I can do depends on how much money it is."

He shook his head. "Adam - "

"Yes, Pa."

"It’s pretend."

"I know. But even in pretend you need to know how much you’re pretending about."

"You’s no fun, A-dam," Erik decreed with his arms folded across his chest.

"It makes a difference, Erik."

He leaned toward me. "It’s only pretend’s. Don’t you’s understands?"

Pa’s left hand slid across his mouth.

"I’m telling you even in pretend you have to know how much money you’re talking about."

Erik rolled his eyes and spread his arms as far as they would go. "This much."

"You count money. You don’t show it with your arms."

"You’s no fun for sure’s."

"Boys," Pa said gently.

I turned to him. "But it does make a difference, Pa."

"It does to you but not to Erik."

My brother gave an affirmative nod. "I knows how’s to pretends but you’s too real."

Pa’s shoulders shook but I didn’t hear him laugh.

"I pretend all the time with you," I argued.

"Not the ways I do. You pretends for real. I pretends for pretends."

I did not understand him sometimes no matter how hard I tried. I pushed my hair off my forehead and tried to think clearly.

"That’s enough for today, boys. Let’s gather up our things and head back to the house."

"Now?!" Erik wailed as he stood. "We don’t go’s now."

"Son, we have to get back and do chores before dinner."

"I stays here." Erik spread his legs and stuck out his chin.

Pa leaned down and put his hands on his knees. "No you’s doesn’t."

"I big’s enough."

I grinned as I watched them.

"You’re so little a good-sized hawk could swoop down and snatch you before you knew it." Pa tried not to smile.

"Could not’s."

Pa spread his arms like a bird’s wings. "He’d come out of nowhere and he’d swoop you right up." With that, he grabbed Erik and held him in the air.

Erik giggled. "I likes it ups here. Think that hawks would lets me ride on’s his back?"

"Probably." Pa swung Erik onto his shoulders and Erik wrapped his arms around Pa’s forehead. He waited until Pa took a few steps before he did exactly what I used to do. He slid his hands over Pa’s eyes and giggled as if he’d done something no boy ever had.

Pa pushed up one of Erik’s hands and gave me a wink. Erik tired of the game and decided Pa needed both of his eyes. We walked back to the house with Erik riding on Pa’s shoulders and Pa’s arm resting on my shoulders.

The day before we left, I was helping Pa load tools on one of the work wagons when Erik came around the corner of the house, crying and screaming that Thaddeus was in the river. Since we had been forbidden to go near it this was horrible to Erik.

Pa tried to assure my little brother that Thaddeus knew how to swim but Erik was scared and kept pulling at Pa’s wrist with both of his hands. After laying aside the articles we’d been loading, Pa and I followed Erik. We walked to the back of the house, past the kitchen and to the gardens. On the left side of the gardens the land sloped gently down to the riverbank and on the right side of the gardens the wooden walkway that served as a landing stretched into the river. By the time we made our way through the garden, Thaddeus was already on the riverbank - having wisely been swimming in the shallow, quiet water. Then he decided to roll in the newly turned soil. After that he went running off for a new adventure.

Erik stood with his mouth open and his hands on his waist. Finally he asked Pa when Thaddeus had learned how to swim and poor Pa tried to explain that Thaddeus had always known - finally comparing it to the way Erik had always known how to breathe.

I don’t know if it was in an effort to distract Erik or just a desire to rest a few minutes but Pa held our hands and we walked to the end of the landing. We sat on the newly sanded wood and watched the late afternoon sun play hide-and-seek behind the trees across the river. Its glow turned the water a rich copper color and at times almost fooled you into thinking you could see through the surface. When Erik asked Pa how he could tell the water was deep Pa got a faraway look in his eyes like he was thinking of another time and place. Then he told Erik what he had told me a long time ago: "Still water runs deep." This time when he said it a suspicion gnawed at the edge of my thoughts - he was talking about more than water. He had all kinds of sayings that had double meaning and this was one of them. I looked up at him in sudden realization and he smiled down at me and patted my back. We sat there for fifteen or twenty minutes and then we had to get back to work. As Pa put it, the wagons weren’t going to load themselves. We walked back toward the house with no idea about what we would face in the days ahead.

Even though he gave me "the look" when I asked if I might ride with him on the wagon when we left New Orleans, I built up the courage to ask Pa if I might ride on his wagon for the return trip to New Orleans. To my relief, he nodded and I climbed on board before he could change his mind. We headed out, staying a good distance behind the carriage so we didn’t eat anymore dust than we had to, and most of the way we didn’t say much except to share an off-hand observation or two. We had done the same during our other travels - not said much but not been uneasy about the quiet either. Sometimes when the road was straight and as even as any road ever is Pa let me take the reins. Given that four horses were pulling the wagon I had a bit of trouble holding all that leather. I was delighted with the trust he showed in me.

We were on the outskirts of the city when Pa scanned the sky and his forehead wrinkled. He looked up again and stopped the wagon - noting the trees and the birds and the way the breeze was blowing from the west. He even took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Then he considered the sky again and I saw fear on his face. He muttered that we should have stayed in the country a few more days and I wondered if he was considering turning back. The trip took a full day which meant rising before dawn and arriving at sunset. If we did turn around we would need to camp out. Mrs. de Ville’s idea of sleeping outdoors sleep with the window open. I wasn’t sure about Mrs. de Marigny but I thought she might enjoy the adventure.

Mrs. de Marigny and Erik were waiting at the house when Pa unloaded Thaddeus and me. As my feet hit the ground he ordered me to stay at home. I wanted to share stories with my friends but his tone of voice was not to be argued with so I went inside and Erik and I unpacked our clothing. We were in the courtyard playing with Thaddeus while Mrs. de Marigny sat on a nearby iron bench when Pa returned. He walked more quickly than usual then stopped again to study the sky. But this time he did it with his legs spread and his hands at his waist.

Something was wrong with Pa. Mrs. de Marigny sensed it, too. She laid a ribbon across a page to mark her place in her book and then dropped the book on the bench. A moment later she was on her feet. She looked up at Pa’s face as she rested her hands on his chest and asked him why he was so worried.

His words were simple. He said the air indicated a gale was about to hit. Erik and I were familiar with the word because of his stories but neither of us had lived through one. Pa, on the other hand, had and he did not look forward to his family experiencing such a storm.

I’ve often wondered if every man who travels on the sea learns to read the sky and the water and the wind and the sun and the moon the way Pa did. When I was no more than four or five he taught me the saying "Red sky at morning, sailor take warning; red sky at night, sailor’s delight." As we traveled we discovered how to adapt that rhyme to the weather we encountered. New Orleans was humid, hot, chilly, dank, rainy, sometimes breezy, and on rare days just about perfect with turquoise skies and vivid flowers. Because of its constantly changing conditions we had found no rhyme to make up about it.

As far as I knew, gales only struck at sea. Since New Orleans is located in a curve of the Mississippi River, not on the Gulf of Mexico, how could a gale hit that far inland?

Erik quickly protested, as if what he wanted could change everything. "I don’t like storms."

Pa was pre-occupied. "Adam, bring in enough firewood for a week. Don’t forget the kindling. Then we need provisions from the kitchen and more candles and oil. Be sure the other firewood in the shed is as high as it can be on the shelf. Bring in the quilts, too. And keep Thaddeus close at hand. We need pots and pans from the kitchen, knives, anything we would ordinarily use out there."

He had said it all before Erik could stand. "You wemember that?" Erik asked me.

My little brother had no idea how many orders Pa could issue at one time. That list had been short compared to some he’d given me.

Erik grabbed Pa’s right leg. "Pa? Where you go’s?"

Pa gave every indication he had no time for such nonsense, even to the point of prying Erik’s hands from his leg. "I have to lock down the shutters."

Mrs. de Marigny took Erik’s hand and smiled gently at him. "I need the big, strong boy to help bring in the kitchen things. You can do this?"

It didn’t take much to distract Erik at that age. Sometimes it still doesn’t take much to distract him. He grinned and said, "I helps you better den anybody’s."

Her look at me over Erik’s head was full of concern.

I didn’t have all Pa’s orders completed, but I was pretty far along, when he showed up beside me in the kitchen to help carry the heavier items. I appreciated his help. We worked silently, purposefully, crossing the courtyard repeatedly while Mrs. de Marigny kept Erik busy in the house asking him where he thought they should store the food, the candles, the lanterns, the quilts, and where he thought Thaddeus would be most comfortable. One of the last things Pa instructed me to do was to fill every pitcher and any other container I could use with water from the well. He held several large bowls while I pumped the water and it looked to me like they were heavy even for him to carry. I ran ahead and held the door open and Pa glanced down, not for the first time, at the basement.

When we returned to the inside of the house, Mrs. de Marigny put a hand on Pa’s arm and said she should go talk to Mrs. de Ville. Pa told her that Mrs. de Ville would not leave her home but Mrs. de Marigny crossed the street and we saw Mrs. de Ville’s servant open the door.

Our home was dark because the shutters were locked over the windows and for me at least it brought back too many memories of ghost stories my friends and I had shared. Erik asked what we should do next and Pa said all we could do was wait. My little brother never has been good at being patient and he obviously considered the entire thing a new adventure. He asked how long it would be, not noticing how Pa paced the parlor rug and looked at the clock on the mantel. I grew uneasier with each moment and then I felt the air change - it raised goose bumps on my arms.

Pa opened the door and Mrs. de Marigny ran in, holding her skirt down. "It has grown windy." She took a deep breath and leaned back on the door after Pa closed it. "It is as you say, Benjamin. She tells me she has been in many storms and this will be no different."

What could Pa do? Kidnap the woman? He shook his head indicating he did not agree with her opinion and then he sat down in his chair. A moment later he snapped the fingers on his right hand and I looked his way, thinking he wanted me. But he was already on his feet. He opened the front door and closed the protective outside door we never used. He slid the wooden board across the inside door and the final sound of that piece falling into place combined with the odd tingling sensation down my back and in my hands created a feeling of impending doom. We were eating dinner when the first strong blast hit and by our usual bedtime the screaming wind reduced Erik to tears. His crying did nothing to calm me.

Glory the rain! No prairie storm ever prepared me for the downpour we endured. Combined with the fierce wind it shook our house more than once and the well-anchored shutters sounded as if they would rip free of the iron that secured them. Thaddeus whined and finally settled under the table by Pa’s chair. But he wasn’t consoled he was just settled. Erik cried until I would have sworn there was no liquid left in him. Mrs. de Marigny, Pa, and I took turns holding him, patting his back, and trying to tell him stories but whenever the wind howled or screamed - which it did with greater frequency - we could not stop Erik’s shrieks. Each time he wailed I shook.

The only time I was distracted was when I looked at Pa as he watched the fireplace wall. What was he watching?

How had he endured something like this on a ship? I asked him if he had gone on deck during storms and he nodded as he smoked his pipe. He said that on occasions when they knew a gale was coming he helped with the sails. At times like that they needed every hand on deck. If they had the luxury they maintained rank. If they had to move quickly just about everyone except the captain, who was busy giving orders, scrambled to ready the ship. And then, he said, they rode it out.

Pa finally got Erik to be quiet. I wrapped my arms around my knees - and before my disbelieving eyes the chimney wall looked like it was breathing.

"Adam!" Pa shouted and I jumped as I always did when he raised his voice like that. "Get off the floor now!" Naturally his yell set Erik into a new series of yells and sobs.

I retreated to the dining room and sat with my legs underneath me in the armchair Pa usually used. I put my head down on the tabletop and Pa ordered me to go sleep in my bed. I told him I couldn’t sleep and he said I had to. It was one of the rare times in my life when I told him "no". All that saved me was I added "sir" to it. I saved "sir" for indications of deepest respect - that way the word didn’t wear out from too much usage and my bottom didn’t wear out from too many spankings.

"Benjamin," Mrs. de Marigny spoke softly and I was surprised we could hear her over the howling wind and beating rain. "It is the first time the boys have been through this, yes? May we not excuse them their fears?" That said she went to one of the kettles. "I think perhaps the soothing tea would help us?" She touched Erik’s cheek. "And perhaps a taste of the chocolate candy we have been hiding?"

Erik sat up in Pa’s lap. His eyes were so swollen there was no distinguishing their color. His nose was scarlet red and his cheeks were splotched. "Dat candy is a secwet, Ma." He wiped at his nose.

"Yes, but I think perhaps Adam would enjoy some. You will be kind and share with him?"

Pa and I exchanged astonished looks when Erik slid from Pa’s lap and walked to me. He patted my hand and reassured, "We takes care’s of you, A-dam. Pa not let’s nothin’ happen. Maybe you like’s a candy’s? But’s only one on ‘count it’s Ma and my’s secwet."

His conditional generosity was overwhelmingly funny. When I smiled he considered himself a success and turned to Mrs. de Marigny, who had just placed the kettle near the fire and stepped far away from the chimney wall. "I do’s it, Ma."

She put her hands together in front of her skirt and leaned down slightly. "Tres bien, you make me so proud! I never doubt you can do this thing."

The storm raged through the night with only sporadic calm. When there was any break in the rampage, we partially opened the window in Erik’s and my room - the one that faced the wall of the house next door - and allowed fresh, damp air into the house to replace the stale, dry air. Many times I thought the onslaught was over, that surely there was no wind left anywhere on the Earth. Then the gale caused me to think twice when it tortured us most of the next day. Pa is well aware of how my acceptable behavior declines in direct proportion to my fatigue so when exhaustion made me dizzy he ordered me to curl up in a couple of quilts beside his chair. Every time I woke up Pa sat with his head titled back. His eyes were bloodshot and he needed to shave. Mrs. de Marigny slept on the settee. Erik was nestled on the hem of her skirt.

In addition to the nerve-wracking rain and the screaming wind we heard things flying around. Naturally Pa wouldn’t let us near the windows so we could peek out through the shutter slats but that didn’t stop us from inventing our own game. Erik and I guessed about what we heard. At first it sounded like tree limbs and pieces of wood. But then I began to worry again because to me the items were distinctly metal, larger sections of trees, lumber, brick, and then to my disbelieving ears there was lapping water like along a riverbank. Because the sounds frightened me so much I started a silly game with Erik - naming such things as elves, sweet cakes, that vine we both still hated in the courtyard, a flying alligator, a horse with wings that was sailing in the clouds - anything I could think of to keep him laughing because every time he gave in to tears I wanted to start myself.

Mrs. de Marigny asked Erik to help her set the table and Pa put his hand on my shoulder and directed me toward his bedroom. He sat down on the bed, looked me straight in the eyes, and thanked me for my concern for Erik. Pa was so proud of me I didn’t have the heart to tell him I had been doing it for my own good as well as Erik’s.

The storm had eased to a light rain by then and I looked forward to opening the house to fresh air as soon as we could. My eyes went down to my feet and then shot up to Pa’s face in panic. The slightest bit of water, it looked more like a glaze, was on the wood. Pa held his index finger to his lips and leaned close to me to tell me the basement was probably filled with water. Once again fear shot through me but this time Pa hugged me. He stood, held my hand, and we walked to the backdoor. I had never seen him unlock anything so slowly in all my life. When he opened it, I learned the reason for his hesitation. I grabbed as much of his waist as I could and looked out at a courtyard filled with four feet of water. Pa ran his hand through his hair and said at least we were still in one piece.

After Pa opened the front door I recognized tiles from our roof and even some awnings that should have been attached to buildings in town. I had been right about the sections of metal - it was wrought iron from balconies. Tree branches floated as if they were on a river and indeed they were because our street was even deeper under water than our courtyard. This, I understood, was the reason for bringing in the food, the water, and all the provisions Pa had ordered so quickly. There was no safe way to reach the kitchen and even if there had been the water would have been deep enough to ruin many things. I was going to be chopping a lot of wood once our part of New Orleans dried out because the lower shelf in the woodshed was not high enough to protect my previous work.

The sky was an intense blue after the storm passed and everything was eerily quiet

In the days that followed, as the water receded, we were even more grateful for how lucky we had been. Mrs. de Ville’s beautiful house stood but it was heavily damaged from the huge trees that fell around it. Small debris from the high water mark darkened the house’s white exterior.

Mrs. de Marigny, Erik, and I spent days cleaning off the courtyard and reclaiming the kitchen after the water subsided. Pa worked on our roof and, to tell the truth, I was glad there was no dry wood to chop yet. We were kept so busy with chores we didn’t dare neglect that I didn’t have much time to wonder what had happened to Henri, Gus, and Etienne. Besides, it seemed every spare moment I had I spent trying to keep Thaddeus from digging in the soil the gale had left behind everywhere in the courtyard.

A few days after the storm Pa returned home early one afternoon. He dropped into his chair - he didn’t sit down easily, he literally dropped, pulled his knees up instead of stretching his long legs, and then he rubbed his hands over his face. Erik and I watched from the dining room where we were setting the table for dinner. Pa looked so upset that Erik didn’t even run to him for a hug.

"Benjamin?" Mrs. de Marigny sat on her heels in front of him and took his hands in hers. Her dress spread around her like an upside-down morning-glory bloom. "What is this that troubles you?"

He had that distant look in his eyes of a person who has seen something too terrible to discuss - a look I remembered from the day Inger had died. But this time there was no death of anyone we knew. There was, however, the destruction of something we had seen on more than one occasion. "They’re gone," he answered.

"What is gone?" Her voice was gentle. She looked into his eyes and laid her hand on his cheek.

"The wharves."

It was her turn to be shocked. "Which of them?"

He shook his head. "They’re all gone, Marie. And as far as they can account for all the boats were lost, too."

I lowered the plates I had been holding to the tabletop. What he said couldn’t be true.

Pa took a deep breath and leaned back. "The sugarcane and cotton crops are probably lost." He waved his hand as he said the next sentence. "And buildings just floated away."

Mrs. de Marigny stood and shook her head. "But this can not be. We have had these storms before. We have the high water under the houses and in the streets but the houses do not swim away and certainly not the wharves."

Any other time Pa would have smiled at her description of the houses swimming away. But I’m not sure he even caught it that afternoon. She turned toward the fireplace. Then she spun so quickly that her skirt had trouble keeping up with her. "Jeanette!" she exclaimed.

Pa nodded. "I asked about her this morning. They’re fine. Jeanette went to see your aunt and uncle. They’re alright."

Erik walked into the parlor. "What abou’ Good Boy?"

Pa put his left hand around Erik’s neck and smiled gently. "Good Boy is alright, too."

I didn’t want to assail him with the list of my friends. He didn’t look like he could take it. I sat down at the table and stared. The wharves gone? Ships lost? Buildings floating away? How could that be?"

As if reading my thoughts, Pa said to Mrs. de Marigny, "Pontchartrain flooded."

Pontchartrain is a big lake near New Orleans. It’s not nearly as large as I understand the Great Lakes to be but it was huge enough for me when I was nine years old. As far as I was concerned the ocean couldn’t be more immense. Pa, of course, knew better. He also knew enough about gales to understand how a wall of water could come down on a city. I not only didn’t understand but I didn’t want to. The thought was far too frightening.

Finally Pa held up his warning finger to Erik and me. "Neither of you is to be anywhere but here until I say otherwise. Do I make myself clear?"

Erik was scared another storm would strike at any moment so he said, "Yes, Pa" quickly.

I said, "Yes, Pa." But my fingers were crossed behind my back.

My chance to explore finally came about a week later. I considered it a gift from God and didn’t question it. I waved as Mrs. de Marigny and Erik rode off in her sister Jeanette’s carriage to have lunch and then I, who had pled a sickly stomach, ran in the other direction.

I had to be careful to avoid the area where Pa worked but that was no problem. There was plenty to explore. Well, there had been plenty. The more I walked around the more I understood the destruction the storm had brought to New Orleans and how fortunate we had been. Many houses had lost their chimneys and some of those awnings I had seen by our home were indeed from the city. Several of my landmarks were gone. The ones that were not were so damaged I knew they would probably be replaced.

"I’ve never seen anything like it, have you?"

I turned toward the voice. A red-haired boy with brown eyes smiled at me and extended his hand, "Martin Colby."

Not many boys my age shook hands with each other. I was surprised by his firm grip. "Adam Cartwright."

He nodded and looked back toward the scenery, shaking his head. "Father said they had these storms in Charleston and Boston on occasion but this was the most fierce he has ever witnessed."

Father? On occasion? Witnessed? Alright, this boy - who looked about my age and was about my height - had me intrigued.

He put his hands in his side pockets and I noticed he was dressed as I was. Then he tilted his head. "Have you lived in New Orleans a long time, Adam?"

I shook my head as I answered. "About a year."

Martin smiled and looked down. "I take it from your tone you are ready to depart?"

How could I resist? I smiled, too. "I want to be back on the trail to California."

That peaked his interest. "California! I wish Father would be interested in that."

Not ever thinking that I might be prying, mainly because nine-year-olds rarely stop to consider such things, I asked what his father was interested in.

He took a deep breath and looked as unhappy as I felt at times. "Politics."

That sounded exciting. "Politics!"

"We’ve lived in Virginia, near the Capitol in Washington, in Tennessee, and now here. I wish Father could have done something worthwhile like join the Corps of Discovery or help push the frontier west of Tennessee. Instead he and Mother attend parties, entertain people in the parlor, talk politics at the dinner table, and expect me to be quiet and not disruptive. It is absolutely dreadful."

"It can’t be too dreadful," I reminded him. "You’re here looking at the city after the storm."

His grin was full of mischief. "Nobody knows."

I felt an immediate kinship. "Nobody knows about me, either."

Martin’s life had been a lot more interesting than mine. He was named for Martin Van Buren who was, at the time, none other than President of the United States. His father was from Charleston, had worked for some kind of political party in New York where he met Mr. Van Buren, then he wound up for a time in Tennessee with Andrew Jackson before he helped Mr. Van Buren get elected President. I didn’t understand all of it but I comprehended one thing - and I stopped in my tracks when Martin said it - my newfound friend had shaken hands with the President.

"No." I did not believe him.

He shrugged. "I’ve met all kinds of politicians." He rattled off names - some I had heard Pa speak about but most of the names were new to me.

Finally he asked if my family had turned toward New Orleans because of the Panic or because of the trouble in Texas. "You know that’s settled now, of course."

Was he talking about the Panic or Texas? I soon had my answer. "Well, it’s temporarily settled," he continued. "Mexico still hasn’t recognized Texas’ independence. Father says the entire affair will lead to another war."

By then we were sitting on a sidewalk bench in one of the neighborhoods. I knew what a panic was. But the way he had said it had made the word sound like a proper name. I asked him what the Panic was and he thought a long time before he explained partly it was banks failing because of speculation with western lands.

Was there anyone Martin hadn’t met? Or anything he didn’t know? I resolved then and there to read the newspaper with a more discerning eye or Martin would grow tired of me pretty darn fast.

A nearby clock bell rang and Martin shot to his feet. For the first time that afternoon he sounded like a normal kid. "I have to get home," he explained. "If my father finds out I’ll get a tanning."

Until then I had never heard the expression and I guess I gave him a bewildered look because he leaned forward and blinked in disbelief. "Don’t tell me your father never tans you!"

I shrugged and explained I wasn’t sure what that meant.

"Mine uses a belt on my backside," Martin explained.

"Oh, yeah. He’s done that. Feels like it’s stripping the hide off of you," I said casually. Pa had never called it anything except using his belt and I wondered if he knew the word "tanning."

"My father hits so hard it takes my breath away," Martin bragged. "Sometimes the belt even leaves welts."

What followed next was insane. We tried to outdo each other about how hard our fathers hit with a belt. When we finally went our separate ways after agreeing to meet again the next day I didn’t believe half of what Martin said about his father and belts. If he believed me he was pretty dumb. And if there was one thing I sensed about Martin it was that he wasn’t dumb.

Martin and I explored the storm damage whenever we could both sneak away from our families. Part of me was elated with the fact that I was doing something Ma and Pa didn’t know about. And of course the part Pa had trained felt guilty. Not guilty enough to confess, you understand, but guilty enough to be extra-cooperative at home. Tell me what else could arouse a parent’s suspicions more quickly. But Ma and Pa didn’t seem concerned at all.

One night after dinner I noticed something that quickly took my mind off the storm damage: Mrs. de Marigny was definitely with child. She was shorter than Inger had been and was much smaller-boned so she showed a lot earlier. I was not the least bit embarrassed by how she looked. But the fact that Pa, who I considered pretty old, had done it one more time to make another baby surprised me. I idly wondered when the baby would arrive. I felt Pa’s eyes on me and slid mine his way. His were getting harder to read at times and that worried me. He didn’t respond with a smile or a frown and for a guilt-ridden moment I wondered if he knew about my disobedience.

As usual, we sat on the rug for a story. Pa made it a story especially for Erik and told about a hero in a country where there was a lot of ice and his name was Erik. He sailed the oceans and explored unknown lands. Pa almost finished the story before I recognized it as the one Inger had told me about Erik the Red.

Our little Erik had a bit of trouble quieting down for sleep that night. Pa sat on Erik’s bed, telling the quiet story, and Erik interrupted on average about every three sentences. Pa finally stood up and left the room. Erik called out to Pa that he hadn’t finished the quiet story and Pa called back, "That’s right. Good night, Erik."

Erik pounded his pillow with his fist to make a comfortable place for his head. "Shoot, him’s in a bad’s mood."

I giggled and was rewarded by Pa’s voice from the parlor. "Adam, you know better."

"Yes, Pa. Good night."

I heard the smile in his voice. "Good night, son."

By what I reckoned to be the sixth month, Mrs. de Marigny was so obviously with child that Erik started giving her odd looks. Ever aware of our slightest unspoken questions, Pa asked us to sit with him one night in the parlor. I sat on the rug at his feet, following part of the design with a pick-up stick. Erik sat on Pa’s knees.

Pa was always as direct as he judged our ages could understand when he told us about how a woman and man made a baby. I had heard the entire story before and considered myself an expert but Erik, who thought he had known everything years earlier when Pa and he had talked about girl horses and boy horses, was a lot more curious and discerning than he had been back then. He made a number of faces as Pa talked and said, "Pa, you’s teasin’." When Pa maintained he was not, Erik shook his head and muttered, "Dat don’t sound likes as fun’s as pwaying hide and seeks."

Pa looked down and grinned.

I saw the light in Erik’s eyes a half-second before Pa did and we both braced ourselves. "Pa," Erik’s voice held disbelief when he leaned forward. "You do’s dat baby-making?"

Biting my cheek to keep from laughing, I wondered what Pa would say. "Yes, your mother and I did the baby-making, Erik."

Erik shook his head. "Aw, Pa," he said with disgust. "You oughts to pway hide and seeks. We don’t needs mores boys."

Pa answered Erik but he looked at me. "It could be a girl, son - and there’s plenty of love to go around."

"Nope," Erik declared. "He’s a boys."

I knew without a doubt that Pa would have more time for Mrs. de Marigny’s and his child than he had been able to give me at the same age. The belief that Mrs. de Marigny and Pa would love their own child better than Erik or me led me straight down the path to jealousy of an unborn baby. It was yet another reason for me not to like her.

Three months before my tenth birthday my youngest brother was born and it is no exaggeration to say he changed our family forever. Mrs. de Marigny and Pa named him Joseph Francis. The Joseph part was fine but Erik and I collapsed in laughter on the settee when Pa told us the "Francis" part. He maintained it was a perfectly fine name but Erik and I knew it wasn’t. We couldn’t imagine any of our buddies finding out someone was named Francis even if they had names like Henri, Etienne, and Erik’s best friend Jonah.

Erik and I were almost witnesses to Joe’s birth. In the middle of a particularly dark night Pa shook my shoulders to pull me from a sound sleep.

"Adam." His voice held worry. "Get dressed. Take Erik to Mrs. de Ville’s and tell her your mother is having the baby. She’ll know what to do. Come on son, get dressed."

If I had a dollar for every time he has sent me on an errand in the middle of the night - well, I’d have a lot of money.

Erik and I plodded across the dark street and finally a sleepy-eyed servant opened the door. I relayed Pa’s message for Mrs. de Ville and his eyes widened. Without being invited, or even taking off our clothes, Erik and I dragged our feet to the bedroom we considered ours and collapsed on the mattress like two felled tree trunks.

When we were finally allowed to see our new brother nearly a week later I was struck instantly by how small he was. Maybe Erik had just been a particularly large baby. Joe had all the petite qualities of Mrs. de Marigny and her coloring as well. By the time he was a year old we would find out he also had her energy and fire.

I was a seasoned veteran at having a baby around - although it was nice to have Mrs. de Marigny taking care of him - but every aspect of Joe’s daily life mesmerized Erik. I lost count of how many times he asked Mrs. de Marigny or Pa, "What you do’s wit him?" or "Dat don’t hurts him?" He treasured the times when he was allowed to sit in Pa’s chair and hold Joe. And he was so careful - always looking to Mrs. de Marigny or Pa to be sure he was doing it correctly.

I will never forget the morning he charged into Mrs. de Marigny’s and Pa’s bedroom and saw Mrs. de Marigny nursing Joe. He came back up the couple of steps to our room and had the strangest look on his face - mostly he was baffled. "A-dam," he whispered to me as I buttoned my trousers. "What Joe doing ta Ma?"

"He’s drinking milk." I thought my explanation made sense but I could tell from his unchanged expression that he didn’t understand. "You’ve seen puppies getting milk from their mothers. And calves. It’s the same thing." Like I said, I was a veteran when it came to information about babies.

He sat on his bed, still stunned. "Ma gives Joe da milk’s?" I nodded and then he twisted his lips. "How?"

I was busy brushing my hair and didn’t catch on at first.

"A-dam," he persisted. "How milk get’s inside Ma?"

I froze in panic. Explaining how a woman provided sustenance for her baby was something I considered way beyond brotherly responsibility. "Pa!" I yelled. "Erik’s got a question!" and I darted out the backdoor as fast as I could.

Once I knew Joe, little as he was, was going to be okay I started a silent game with Pa. I’d catch his eye and then speculatively count my fingers. I’d count from one to eight then tilt my head as if I had counted wrong and start over again. Finally one day out in the courtyard when we were trimming some flowering vines, Pa stood and wiped his forehead.

"I’m glad you can count so well. Are you having trouble getting past eight?"

I can’t begin to explain how wide his grin was.

Shrugging, I pretended it was none of my business. "Well, it’s just that you got married in July and here it is early March and - "

Pa bent toward me from the waist. His eyes twinkled like the cut glass in the shops downtown. "Your brother was born early, Adam."

I tilted my head back as if I didn’t believe him. "Oh." A second later, Pa lifted me, threw me over his shoulder like a sack, and gave me a play swat on the bottom. I laughed as we whirled around until I was dizzy. "You win!" I shouted.

"Did you say something?"

"You win! I’m gonna throw up on the back of your shirt."

"Oh no you aren’t." He put me on my feet and his strong hands held my shoulders. "I’ve never seen that before," he said.

"What?"

"Your left eye is going around like a clock’s hands and your right eye is going the opposite way."

I leaned my hands on his waist. "Pa, that isn’t funny."

"You could make a lot of money in the circus doing that, Adam."

"Pa –" I warned.

He lifted me and held me in his arms but this time he rested my head against his shoulder. I made the most of it and didn’t tell him for a long time that I was better.

Let’s see. How to explain this? Joe was either so sound asleep cannon fire wouldn’t have scared him or he was wide-awake. And when he was wide-awake so was everyone else in the house. He behaved in ways I didn’t recall Erik doing. He gurgled a lot, which I remembered, but he made squeaking, bubble-blowing and - I swear - giggling sounds. It should come as no surprise if you know him that he learned to walk when he was ten months old. Erik aided that skill because he worked with Joe long and hard in the parlor. He didn’t like our youngest brother crawling around like a dog. He wanted Joe to stand up so they could chase each other. It also won’t surprise anyone who knows him that Joe talked before his first birthday. I don’t mean long, complex sentences but enough to communicate. Sentences like "Joe want Adam apple." That one always sent Pa into uncontrolled laughter because it sounded like Joe wanted someone’s Adam’s apple. I didn’t think it was funny.

There was an unspoken understanding between Pa and me that I was to help Mrs. de Marigny care for Joe. So I enjoyed the same delightful experiences. I lifted Joe from his bath and received a straight stream of pee on my shirt. I carried him outside for fresh air in the courtyard and he spit up all over me even though he hadn’t eaten for hours. When Joe was teething, I was asleep on my bunk bed with my left arm hanging down and he bit into my thumb so hard that there’s still a faint scar. I can’t remember what he hit me in the stomach with in the parlor one night but it was my turn to throw up then. After he became mobile my life grew increasingly dangerous when I was inside the house. Joe was liable to jump out from a hiding place, run and smash into my legs from behind which buckled my knees and sent me falling onto everything from the dining table to Pa sitting in his chair. During one of those falls my forehead hit the corner of the wall. That small scar is still there, too. I seriously considered running away and living with Henri but his mother had a baby, too, and we commiserated whenever we saw each other.

After I fell and hit my forehead, Pa had a talk with Joe. During that talk Pa made a funny mistake. We didn’t realize it was funny at the time but it provided amusement for all the family for several years. During the course of the scolding Pa told Joe, "Joseph, you could kill someone doing that." Somehow my littlest brother got it in his mind that any sort of injury was "killing." When he apologized for hitting my legs - aided by a behavior-altering pop on the bottom - he said, "Sowwy I kill Adam."

I didn’t understand what he meant for the longest time. Pa, Erik, and Mrs. de Marigny were way ahead of me. By the time I caught on they had been laughing about it for weeks.

To this day you won’t convince me it was Pa’s hand pops on Joe’s bottom that stopped him from misbehaving. But I’ve yet to see a kid who hates to apologize as much as he does.

Because of Joe’s presence, Erik and I enjoyed being alone with each other more than ever. I don’t think it was based on exclusivity as much as the fact that we understood without having to speak, we had the same sense of humor, and most importantly we knew when we were getting too close to the line. After all, we also had the same pa to answer to.

Joe was about a year old when Erik and I located an abandoned building that was probably ten by ten feet in size and constructed of masonry. The floor was dirt and I wouldn’t be surprised if the floods of the gale had moved the building to its isolated spot. The windows were broken so even when we closed the ramshackle door there was plenty of ventilation. Inside those walls was a world all our own. We played shopkeepers to imaginary people, we sold each other our boots, like every boy in New Orleans we played pirates, we pretended to be tailors, when we found interesting rocks they transformed into buried treasure, and the desserts we "baked" were culinary masterpieces. The words "play like" were in almost every sentence.

Then came the most magical day in a long time for Erik and me. With me holding a makeshift halter around Thaddeus’ chest, we led him to our hideout. Erik and I were peeking from the windows, shooting imaginary grizzly bears, when we became aware that Thaddeus was just about digging us to the center of the Earth in one corner. Erik shouted at him to stop but I put a hand to Erik’s chest.

"He’s got the scent of something," I explained.

"Da sense of what?" Erik asked.

"Not the sense, brother. The scent. The smell of something."

"He smells like Taddeus to me."

There was no way I was going to allow the conversation to head any farther downhill so I didn’t respond.

Then I gave a cry of discovery and dropped to my knees beside my dog.

"It’s nobody’s dead, is it?" Erik was worried.

"It’s a bunch of bottles." I held up one of the small, colored treasures. "Look, Erik!"

He was as excited as I was. Before Thaddeus sat down - satisfied with a good afternoon’s work - he had unearthed fourteen bottles of varying size, color, and shape. We were beside ourselves with excitement. We arranged them according to color. Then we arranged them according to size. We pretended they held magic potions - or dreaded medicines for things like sore throats and upset stomachs. After a serious discussion we reached the conclusion that neither Pa nor Mrs. de Marigny would allow us to keep them so we decided they would be our secret. The fact that no one else knew about our discovery made it all the more fun.

We lost track of time that day, in spite of the chiming clocks around the city, and arrived home so late we had no hope of completing our afternoon chores. Scurrying into the courtyard, breathless and covered in dirt, we both flinched when Pa raised his head from chopping wood. He gave us a thorough going-over, switched his attention to Thaddeus, and then looked me square in the eyes. His gentle blue ones held soft amusement. "Just tell me you weren’t looking for buried treasure in someone else’s courtyard."

"No, Pa," we assured.

He nodded. "Don’t forget your chores tomorrow, boys."

"No, Pa," we assured again.

He motioned toward the house with his left hand. "Go clean up for dinner."

We didn’t have to be told twice. We said, "Yes, Pa" and ran into the house before he changed his mind.

When Martin and I managed to meet we had an even better time than I had with Barbara. Well, not better. We didn’t get into the same kind of mischief. Well, not a lot anyhow.

Because Martin’s father was involved in politics - I did not understand how because I did not see his name in the newspaper - we had access to buildings and offices I’d never seen. Some of them were beautiful and filled with fine furniture. Some of them were so old they had cracks in the walls and I worried they might fall in on us. Men in silk vests who wore gold watch chains passed us in hallways and several nodded to Martin after he said, "Good day, sir." If the weather was pretty we sat on a bench and enjoyed the newspapers Martin’s father received from different cities. Since he had to sit still during so many boring dinners, Martin knew a lot of the men quoted in the paper and he knew how they spoke. He reduced me to tearful laughter when he lowered his voice and made himself sound preposterously important as he quoted them. Reading from the paper, and imitating different politicians, became a game for us. We sounded out words we’d never seen before and guessed their meaning from their use in the sentence.

Martin brought a primer we were both too old for and we substituted words. We also concocted elaborate math problems. I presented him with one and he pretended to solve it without even needing a pencil and he did the same for me. We were two of the most easily amused boys in the city. One afternoon we sat near the park and invented short songs about the people we observed. The more scandalous the songs were, and the more we could lean over and giggle, the better.

Martin and I didn’t do anything we would have been in trouble for. But Mrs. de Marigny continued to ask where I’d been, what I had been doing, who I’d been with - and I didn’t consider any of it her business. If Pa wanted to ask me then I would tell him. In the meantime she bothered me and smothered me so I finally told her I was with Henri. She checked with Henri’s mother and discovered I was not spending time with Henri. Then she confronted me with the truth and explained to me, not for the first time, that there were places I must not go and things I must not do.

Mrs. de Marigny told me that by continuing to go where she did not want me to I was disobeying her. By the autumn after I turned eleven, my resentment came to a boil. After all, Pa had trusted me with Erik and we had never gotten into trouble. She treated me like a child. I yelled at her that she wasn’t my mother and I didn’t intend to obey her. After my anger eased, I worried she would tell Pa what I had said. When she didn’t tell him, I took her silence as an indication that she knew everything I had said was true and I lorded it over her even more. She continued to keep a close eye on me, too, and our silent war raged on. I knew there was no way Henri and I could go to the river the way we wanted to in our quest for new adventures. I was determined to reclaim my freedom despite her warnings.

My mistake was that I didn’t talk to Martin. He would have proposed a discussion and compromise between Mrs. de Marigny and me. Instead, I talked to Henri. His mother told him scary stories all the time hoping they would make him behave. He remembered the tales long enough to share them with me so we could laugh. Henri came up with the way to force Mrs. de Marigny to leave me alone for a few days - voodoo.

Pa made me wish I’d never heard the word. He only used his belt on me a few times and one of those times was when I was eleven years old. The fact that I deserved it didn’t make it any easier to experience. But it ultimately led me to peace with Mrs. de Marigny.

The first step in Henri’s and my elaborate plan was to go to the voodoo lady’s home immediately after sunset. That time of day was when we had our best chance of slipping away from our homes. Pa had devised a way to keep our bedroom window from being raised more than a few inches because of Joe’s adventurous nature so I had no hope of sneaking out my old way. Instead I stepped very slowly and carefully to the backdoor and then ran like a thief from the courtyard. I met Henri at our agreed corner and we set out to buy a voodoo doll.

As I’ve said before, Henri knew everyone and until I met Martin I thought Henri also knew everything. I did not question how he knew about the voodoo lady and I hoped the few coins I had were enough to buy what I needed. Her house was away from town on the other side of a cemetery. Because of the high water table, all the graves are above ground in New Orleans. The crypts - some elaborate and some strikingly plain, some tall and some short, some with statues atop them - contribute to the feeling of a city of the dead with buildings crammed together. Because of the difficulty in seeing around corners people were sometimes the victims of robbers. But lawbreakers were the least of Henri’s and my concerns. It’s funny how you don’t believe in ghosts when the sun is shining and how quickly you can believe in them when the stars are shining. As I told Joe years later, my mouth was so dry I couldn’t have spit to save my life.

Finally we approached the voodoo lady’s house. It was a small, wooden cabin but there was nothing unusual about it - no owls hooting from the trees, no disembodied screams, and none of what I expected. I wondered if Henri knew what he was talking about. We argued a bit about who should knock at the door and finally Henri pointed out that, since it was my voodoo doll we had come for, I should have the honor.

The woman who came to the door was dark-skinned with large almond-shaped eyes and a knowing smile on her red colored lips. She wore big gold earrings and so many necklaces I wouldn’t have tried to count them. Her purple, yellow, and red dress was tied in a knot at her right shoulder. She asked, in an accent I had never heard before, what we searched for. Henri didn’t say a word so I spoke in such a soft voice she leaned down to hear me.

"I want a doll to make a lady sick."

She pulled back and crossed her arms, putting each hand inside the opposite sleeve. "And for how long do you wish this lady sick?"

"Not – not long," I stammered. "Three days?"

"Three days," she repeated. She turned. "Come with me."

I jerked Henri’s arm to make him follow me because he seemed to be perfectly willing to wait in the first room.

The room she led us to was lighted by candles instead of lanterns like in the first room. She motioned for us to sit at a small wooden table and opened a metal box. I don’t know what I thought the doll would look like but what she placed in front of me wasn’t it. For one thing it was not much longer than my thumb. It had on a scarf like hers but the rest of it was a brownish fabric. And the doll was naked. She asked me where I wished for the lady to be ill and I said the stomach and I winced when she jabbed a small feather where the stomach would be. Then she wrapped it in a strip of cloth that held in a piece of wood with a few more feathers and a small bead that made a jingling noise. As her final preparation of the doll, she held it over one of the candles and the smoke discolored it slightly. "And the name of your lady?" she asked.

I wasn’t about to tell her it was Pa’s wife so I answered, "Marie."

She smiled, said a few words that didn’t make any sense, and then laid the doll before me. "You must put it near her or in something which belongs to her."

I reached in my pocket and displayed the coins in the palm of my hand. "Is this enough?"

She plucked a few coins from my palm and nodded that we should leave.

Time has helped me understand she knew exactly what she was dealing with - two boys on an adventure and nowhere near the true believers we thought we were.

My good luck continued. A sliver of kindling I had slipped between the backdoor and the doorframe was still there. I took off my boots and opened the door then padded to our room. For once Joe was sound asleep and so was Erik. I eased out of my trousers and crawled into my bed. I slept with a much clearer conscience than I should have.

The next morning, Mrs. de Marigny, Erik, and Joe paraded to the kitchen and I once again slipped around the house. I went into Mrs. de Marigny’s and Pa’s room and decided the best place to hide my new ally against her was in a back corner of their armoire.

Most furniture in New Orleans is on a massive scale - especially for an eleven year old. I had to extend myself on tiptoe to reach the key that locked the doors and then I had to crawl on my stomach to place the doll in the far right corner of the tall cabinet. There was no way Mrs. de Marigny or Pa would see my treasure. I closed the doors, locked them, and waited for the magic to start.

Fulfillment came quickly. We had no more cleared the table after lunch than Mrs. de Marigny put her left arm in front of her stomach and stopped in her tracks.

"Mama?" Joe tugged at her skirt, sensing something was wrong.

Erik turned around when he heard Joe. "Ma?"

She waved her right hand and slowly sat on one of the dining chairs. "I have a little ache. You clean the dishes, please?"

When Joe said he would help, Erik’s eyes widened in panic. Mrs. de Marigny came to the rescue. "Joseph, you could stay with me, perhaps, in case I require you?"

Joe swelled with importance and strutted to her side.

Except for an occasional word or two Erik had left behind his baby talk by the time he was seven - as far as I was concerned it was another way Mrs. de Marigny had intruded where she shouldn’t have. He repeated words he’d heard Jonah say and he had even learned to pronounce my name correctly. "Adam? What do you figure’s wrong with Ma?"

I shook my head. "Maybe she has a stomach upset."

"She looked like it hurt more than that." His worry deepened. "You don’t figure she’s got the fever, do ya?"

"It’s too late for the fever," I reassured. "I’m telling you, it’s just a stomach upset. She’ll be fine."

Erik got quiet and I knew from his expression he didn’t believe me.

I considered myself pretty smart for my age. Mrs. de Marigny and Mrs. de Ville could never find something too hard for me to read. On a rare occasion Pa would have to correct me on a math problem or with geography or what I later learned was science. But I got a tablespoon-and-more dose of humility during the next few days when my plan blew up in my face like badly fused dynamite.

The first thing I hadn’t taken into account was that, with Mrs. de Marigny ill in bed, I was expected to stay home and take care of Erik and Joe. I protested to Pa, pointing out that when I had been Erik’s age I had taken care of him so now Erik could take care of Joe. My argument was to no avail and I grumbled around the house all day. There went my planned adventures to the river.

The second day Tante Jeanette came to the house to tend to Mrs. de Marigny. She was convinced the illness was contagious and made us drink herbal teas that had us peeing all day. I didn’t know that Pa stayed up with Mrs. de Marigny the night before until I saw him when he came in from work. He looked like he was carrying a heavy load on his back and he could fall down at any moment. That was when I remembered he lost his mother to cholera and always worried when one of us was ill.

Voodoo, I decided, was way too strong. I had to do something to get my family back to normal so I had a better chance of sneaking off to have adventures. As I saw it, my answer was to take the doll back to the voodoo lady and ask her to remove the spell. I didn’t cross too many bridges ahead of time - like how I planned to get it back to her or whether I was brave enough to venture through that cemetery again. All I knew was that Pa looked worse and Mrs. de Marigny was very quiet. And it was all because of me.

Late the next afternoon, Tante Jeanette and Erik and Joe were setting the table for dinner. Mrs. de Marigny lay in her bed with that unusual silence around her. The fear that she might die stabbed me. Once again, I tiptoed to reach the key in the armoire lock, opened the doors, stretched on my stomach to retrieve the doll, and just as my right hand closed around the cause of all my troubles Pa grabbed me by the back of my collar and the back of my trousers’ waist band. He put me on my feet and his puzzled eyes fell on the evidence in my hand. I cringed. He called to Tante Jeanette for them to start dinner without us. Then he took the doll in one hand and removed his belt from the nail on the wall with the other hand. He motioned and I numbed my thoughts as I silently walked ahead of him out the backdoor, across the courtyard, and into the kitchen where we could be alone.

He continued to hold the doll in his left hand and his belt in his right. "Would you like to tell me what this is?" He knew but he wanted to hear it from me.

"A voodoo doll." I swallowed and licked my lower lip. "It makes people sick."

I expected him to be as angry as he had been the day he had taken his belt to me for not reloading the rifle. But he was controlled. "Where did you get it?"

"From a voodoo lady."

"Where?" That was when I knew he would make me tell him every detail. My insides knotted and my knees started shaking. I backed up against the worktable for support.

"I went to her house."

He leaned from the waist. "You went to her house."

"Yes, Pa." My eyes couldn’t quit gravitating to the belt in his right hand. Hot, uncontrolled tears stung my cheeks.

He placed the doll on the tabletop behind me and rested his left hand on the side of his waist. His right arm still hung beside him with his hand gripping the belt.

"Where is her house?"

"I don’t know, Pa. It’s past the cemetery." I swiped the back of my hand at the tears. It did no good. More tears took their place.

"Past the cemetery. Who gave you permission to go there?"

He had started repeating everything I said when I was in trouble a long time ago and I still didn’t like it any more than I had the first time he’d done it. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe me - he wanted to be sure I understood what I had done.

"No one, Pa."

There were still no signs of the anger I had known in the past. Nevertheless, I knew what was coming. "Are you supposed to go near the cemetery?" he asked.

Shaking my head, and fighting the silent tears, I said that I wasn’t.

He gave me no mercy. He asked what time of the day I had gone to her house, how I had left our house and how I had gotten back in, how I knew about her, who I had gone with, what I had asked her to do - the questions seemed like they would never end. And when they did I wished they hadn’t. I felt myself crumbling.

"You were disobedient and dishonest," he summarized. He pointed in the general vicinity of the doll. "And you were disrespectful to your mother."

He confirmed my punishment with his next words. "Turn around, Adam. Take down your trousers."

I turned around and through the film of tears I saw the doll. Memories of how much his belt had hurt when I’d forgotten to reload the rifle assailed me. And that had been with my trousers on.

"Now."

My fingers fumbled with the buttons. The tears came more heavily. I slowly pushed down the back of my trousers and held the front with my right hand and then grabbed at the table edge with my left hand for support. It was just a little lower than my shoulders - Pa never made me bend over very far. When Pa flipped back my shirttail I whimpered and squeezed my eyes closed. For the first time I felt Pa’s belt hit my bare bottom and it was everything I had dreaded.

No one knew what had passed between Pa and me. He left for work the next morning, reassured because Mrs. de Marigny’s fever had broken. Erik later told me I was so sound asleep Pa hadn’t been able to wake me to tell me goodbye.

I woke with a scream when Joe jumped on my back, intending to play "horsey" and leaned back on my bottom. I grabbed his arm and slammed him to the mattress. "Stay away from me!" I shouted.

His usually smiling lips went as straight as Pa’s could. He was off the bed in a breath and Erik, who had witnessed my temper, looked as if he was seeing through me to the wall. He slowly turned and left the room.

When I stood I was aware of every movement. I had no idea what had happened to the voodoo doll and did not remember getting undressed and going to bed. I had a vague memory, as you do sometimes from dreams, of Pa holding me around my shoulders while I shook and cried until I felt ill. The only thing I was sure of was that when I gingerly touched my bottom through my shirt it let me know something bad had happened to it.

I almost never got dressed. Although my shirttail kept my trousers from directly rubbing my bottom, any contact - however brief - brought me up short. I couldn’t sit on the bed to pull on my socks and boots so I had to devise a way to lean against the wall.

Since I had slept late I took a hunk of bread and caught up on my chores. Even that took longer because every time I bent I ached. There was one thing I knew I couldn’t do. Mr. Alexander had returned to New Orleans the spring that Joe was born and good as his word he asked me to exercise his horse. It was a chore I looked forward to several days a week. At least I considered it a chore until, at the end of 1838, he presented me with a bag full of coins. I protested that I could not accept money but he insisted and I went home worried about what Pa would say. Then I hit on a great idea - I would give it to Pa toward our savings for heading west. Pa said I had earned the money and it was mine but I assured him that I didn’t want it. Well, maybe a little. Maybe enough to buy gifts for everyone. And some candy for me. I asked Pa how much he thought the items would cost and he helped me estimate it on a piece of paper. Then I counted out enough coins for my purchases and gave him the remainder, telling him if he needed the money for something else I didn’t mind him spending it.

The morning after Pa used his belt on me I told Tante Jeanette I needed to explain to the stable hand that I wouldn’t be able to exercise Mr. Alexander’s horse, Temptation, for a few days. In spite of her confusion she gave her consent. She also allowed Erik to go with me.

My brother and I never said a word but he knew something was wrong. He walked silently beside me, looking at what was happening on the street and waving to his friends. The walk was less pleasurable for me. The stable hand said he was sure Mr. Alexander would understand and, after a glance at Erik, said he hoped everything was all right at home. I guess he thought something was amiss and I had to take care of Erik. I didn’t tell him otherwise.

As we followed the sidewalk toward home, Erik suddenly kicked a rock in front of me and when I looked over at him he gave me that lop-sided grin he still has. I kicked the rock back to him, he kicked it far ahead, I kicked it even farther and then sucked in a quick breath when my bottom didn’t like the move - we kept the rock our prisoner until we were home. Then Erik picked it up and looked it over. "I think I’ll put this with my other magic rocks," he announced.

I grabbed him behind the neck and tousled his hair. He reached up and made a mess out of my hair and then I chased him into the courtyard. I had to let him win that day because my bottom chafed like a case of heat rash.

I was slower doing my evening chores - and then what I had worried about all day happened. None of us was excused from the evening meal unless we were ill. I can’t begin to express how sore I was when I sat in the chair that evening for dinner. I was nervous because I was sitting next to Pa, who watched for any sign of the sulking he didn’t tolerate. I kept losing concentration on the meal and conversation and was the last one to finish. Only when I asked to be excused did I notice that Tante Jeanette was gone and Mrs. de Marigny was sitting at the table.

After Pa excused me, my bottom and I didn’t want to hear the story in the parlor. I crawled onto the bunk bed and told myself tomorrow would be better.

"Adam?" Erik rested his right hand on my shoulder and spoke softly. "Adam?"

I looked up at him from where I was sprawled on my stomach. There was no light coming in the window.

"Pa wants to talk to you." The sky blue eyes hugged me in a way Erik’s arms couldn’t at the moment.

"Is - is it late?" I rubbed at my eyes.

He shook his head, baffled by my confusion about the time. "We just finished dessert. Ma and Joe and me are gonna wash the dishes."

I crawled from the bed. Erik walked to the backdoor and looked over his shoulder and paused. Then he was out the door, crossing the courtyard toward the kitchen.

I didn’t intend to but I took a long time to negotiate my way to the doorway into the parlor. Pa sat leaning his elbow on the chair arm as he stared at the empty fireplace. He looked up at me when I leaned on the doorframe.

"Come in the room, please?"

I walked to the rug and as I did so his eyes went from the top of my head to my bare feet and back to my face. "Adam, your punishment is over," Pa said softly.

For him maybe but not for me.

"Son, you left me no choice."

I knew that. I had been disrespectful by wanting Mrs. de Marigny ill; I had been disobedient, and deceitful. Those were Pa’s three "D’s." Committing one was grounds for physical punishment. I had managed to break all of them in one fell swoop.

He motioned with his fingers and I obeyed.

"Your mother had an influenza and the voodoo doll had nothing to do with her illness." He kept his voice soft. He explained to me that some people considered voodoo a religion and that was their right - but he did not believe in it. He took my hands in his. "Why did you want your mother ill?"

The resentment had grown inside me for so long you would think I was glad for the chance to tell him. What I wanted to tell him more than anything was to quit calling Mrs. de Marigny my mother.

He released one of my hands and ran his right hand through my hair. Waiting patiently, he stroked my left cheek and then he slid his thumb down my nose. I expected him to say, as he often did, that I reminded him of my mother. He didn’t. Instead, he held his arms wide. All my hurt pride wanted me to stay away; my need for reassurance of his love responded. I leaned into his chest and he rubbed my back. Even during our worst times, when I had been younger and Pa had terrified me with his anger, after he had calmed down he had held me that way and had told me he loved me. He never once apologized, though. As far as he is concerned there will always be consequences for disobedience.

I took Pa’s reprimands and punishments particularly hard because I wanted to show him how much he could trust me, how proud he could be of me, how little correction I needed, and how much I valued his approval. Understanding those things at the age of eleven, I finally stood back from our hug and looked into the eyes of the man I so relied on.

And I answered his question about why I had wanted Mrs. de Marigny ill. I told him I liked it better when it was just Erik, him, and me - not intending, of course, to leave out Joe. Mrs. de Marigny always told me what to do and treated me like a child.

Pa rested his hands on my shoulders. "Your mother knows how important you are to me so she wants to take care of you. She also watches over you because she loves you. She has been lived in New Orleans longer than we have and when she tells you not to go certain places she is doing it because that place is dangerous, not because she is treating you like a child."

His next words brought tears to my eyes because I knew he was right. He asked me to open my heart a little. "Adam, you need to understand there are times when I can give more attention to Erik or Joseph just as there are times when I can give you more attention. I’ve always been proud of the way Erik and you love each other and I’d be even more proud of you than I already am if you would try a little harder to care for someone else who is important to me. Would you do that for me? Would you please treat her with courtesy - like a gentleman?"

I rested my head against him. Although I told myself I only listened to them because Erik still liked them I asked, "Tell me a quiet story, Pa?"

Pa’s strong arms closed around my back. He rubbed between my shoulders with his right hand and kept his left hand above my waist as if he expected me to fall backwards. Then he spoke, deeply and softly. I felt his heart beat and noted the rise and fall of his chest. When I lifted my head from the pillow the next morning I was on my stomach and wearing only my shirt. A note in Pa’s strong handwriting waited for me, held in place by one of my books that lay flat on the shelf. "You fell asleep before the end of the story," it read. "I’ll finish it tonight after Erik and Joe are asleep." And then he had written as an afterthought because the ink was lighter, "Run Joe around today? I want him to sleep when the rest of us do."

Pa allowed me to accompany him to the market the next day. We walked, with him quizzing me on math problems and me pointing out objects and asking him to guess distances.

"Pa?" I finally asked as he took his usual long, distance-eating strides. "Can you slow up a bit, please? My bottom’s still sore from the tanning."

Pa frowned and put his hand on my back. "The what?" His tone was one of astonishment.

I stuck out my chin and put my hands in my side pockets. I knew a word that Pa didn’t know. I mocked his voice as I replied. "You’ve heard of a tanning, haven’t you?"

"I’ve heard of tanning animal hides, yes."

"There’s more than one meaning for that word, Pa." I milked my superiority for every drop I could get out of it.

"Other than tanning animal hides what other kind of tanning is there?" Pa was beside himself because for the moment at least I was smarter than he was.

"My friend Martin said when his father uses a belt on him they call it a tanning," I explained.

"Where the devil is this friend of yours from?"

I kicked up the fronts of my boots a bit, pleased that Pa didn’t know everything about me. "He’s lived a bunch of places - Tennessee, Virginia, Washington."

"And he calls a father using a belt a tanning?" He was incredulous and something of his proper New England upbringing surfaced. "Adam, tanning an animal’s hide is not a good comparison."

That was when the wonderful word I had heard Barbara use slipped out of my mouth. "Glory, Pa, don’t go berserk."

Pa came to a complete stop. His hands went to either side of his waist. "Where did you hear the word ‘berserk’?"

It hadn’t occurred to me that it might be one of those cuss words that Pa didn’t allow us to say. I mean how bad could it be if Barbara had used it? I leaned toward him and quietly asked, "It’s not a bad word, is it Pa?"

He twisted his lips and turned his head. "You heard it from Barbara, didn’t you?"

"Is it a bad word, Pa?" I repeated worriedly.

"An unusual one." He ran his left hand through his hair. "Do you do this on purpose, son?"

"Do what, Pa?"

"Somehow we have gone from math and distance problems to talking about the word ‘berserk.’"

I shrugged. "I won’t talk about anything anymore."

He laughed and rested his right arm around my shoulder. "The sun will stop rising before Adam Cartwright doesn’t discuss anything."

I heard the pride in his voice and looked down at the sidewalk. He was teasing me by kicking up the fronts of his boots like I was.

As the days passed Pa’s words tumbled in my mind. Open my heart to Mrs. de Marigny. She no longer had to ask me to do things I knew to do. I made a practice of asking her for permission to go somewhere or do something - and I actually did what I had asked permission for. We exchanged smiles a lot more often. She welcomed all my efforts, however small.

Many afternoons I stretched out on my stomach in the parlor and read. Joe sometimes begged me to tell him a story but even the simplest ones that had held Erik spellbound soon bored him and he was off to bigger adventures. I told myself it was because he was just a little more than a year old but even then I suspected he was not as easily amused as Erik and I had been and still were. Joe was going to need to be constantly on the move and into everything. But at the same time one of the best things about him was how everything rolled off him. The day after I had been so fierce with him he gave me a big hug in the morning and told me to come see because he had helped make breakfast. I suspected Mrs. de Marigny had more to do with the cooking than Joe but he was so proud that Erik and I bragged on his talent.

A broken plate brought Mrs. de Marigny and me together finally. I don’t know why it took me until I reached the kitchen to drop the thing. The beautiful gold rimmed platter with a French scene painted on it was one of the few items of her own she had.

I had already slipped on a place on the dining room floor where someone had dropped part of his meal. As soon as Erik saw me nearly fall on my behind, he guiltily wiped up the potatoes.

And we always had to watch out for Joe on the back steps. He did not go down them one step at a time like a normal child - not even after Pa constructed a low handrail for him. Instead he walked to the edge of the porch, then turned his little bottom toward the foot of the steps and went down them backwards on his hands and knees. Years passed before we recognized his inborn fear of heights was manifesting itself even at that young age.

I nearly tripped over Joe on the steps, causing him to look up at me and yell, "Adam kill Joe, Pa!"

"There’s a problem with that - " Pa pointed out from where he was chopping kindling. "If Adam killed you then you wouldn’t be able to tell me he had done it."

"You talkin’ back ta Joe, Pa?"

I rolled my eyes. My bottom would have been red if I’d talked to Pa that way. But Joe was about as precocious as they come. His speech was good and his reasoning was even better.

Pa put down the axe and clapped his hands together. "When I catch you I’m gonna tickle you."

Joe squealed and ran around the courtyard.

You would think having survived all those close calls the rest of the trip to the kitchen would have been easy. And to this day I don’t know how I did it because I had been in and out of that kitchen countless times. I’ve often wondered if it was because I was growing and my feet were longer. Probably I was looking up and not paying attention. At any rate, the results were the same. I tripped and my arms fluttered like a bird’s wings. Both of my arms. Which meant there was nothing in either hand. The precious porcelain platter splintered after it hit the brick floor.

I suppose you could call what flooded my body dismay but that is such a mild word for such a sickening feeling. Mrs. de Marigny and I were getting along so well and I understood her and was growing fond of her as I made life less hard on both of us.

She was the one who told me love was not like a pie with a limited number of slices. Instead, she said, love was like a snowball. "You have seen these, yes?" she asked. "You know then when you roll one it grows ever larger? So it is with love. You take a small amount and start rolling it and you take in more people and your love grows, it does not diminish. This makes sense?"

Of course it did.

Now I was in the kitchen, staring at the platter I was responsible for breaking. I slowly went to my knees and tried to pick up the pieces. I don’t know what I thought I would do with them. Somewhere along the way, probably when the shock of what I had done hit me, I started crying. I had been doing a lot of that lately and I was as frustrated with myself for what I thought of as a childish behavior as I was for destroying something of such value.

Mrs. de Marigny sat on her heels and grabbed my wrists. "No, Adam, you must not touch. These pieces are like the glass and they will cut you."

"Can - can you get another one if I ask Pa for my money?" I was desperate to let her know I accepted the blame.

She touched the side of my face so gently it was as if a butterfly had landed on my cheek. "Adam, the only important thing is you." The fact that I knew she meant it brought the same short breaths that Pa’s threats sometimes did. My heart pounded and I cried as I never had. Harder than when Pa tanned me for not reloading the rifle and longer than when he tanned me after I told him about the voodoo doll. I covered my face and wailed, probably sounding like a lost soul. Mrs. de Marigny raised me to my feet by placing her hands under my elbows but I was too embarrassed to cry on the top of her shoulder. It was the first time I had allowed myself to be so close to her and I noticed that I was a little bit taller than she was. But my break in crying was fleeting and when the tears came again I cried into her shoulder while she held one hand against the back of my neck.

"I’m sorry," I gulped.

She knew instinctively I was no longer referring to the destroyed platter at the kitchen doorway.

"Adam," she said softly. "You listen?"

"Yes, ma’am," I said hoarsely. I remained nestled into the top of her shoulder.

"When someone loves you in the depth of the heart you are the treasure. The treasure that is kept in the heart, it cannot be broken like the dish. You understand this, yes?"

I took a step back and rubbed at what I am sure were red eyes. "Yes, ma’am."

"So," she waved her left hand into the air. "We will now throw away this thing of the past. You will hold the bucket and I will dispose of the dish?"

I lifted the bucket handle and smiled at her - fully aware she, like Pa, said a lot of things that had double meaning.

In less than a week I was calling her Ma.

One day between Joe’s second birthday and my twelfth, Martin and I were sitting by the park laughing at an editorial in the paper when a shadow fell on us and we looked up. Pa. Martin beat me to a standing position by the blink of an eye.

Pa’s hands were in his side pockets and he smiled genially at both of us. "I don’t believe we’ve met." He took his right hand from his pocket and extended it toward Martin. "Ben Cartwright, Adam’s father."

"Martin Colby, sir." An unmistakable awe showed from Martin’s large brown eyes to his open mouth. I’d never considered how tall Martin’s father might be and wondered if Pa’s height was overpowering to my friend.

"I understand you boys have been together quite a bit lately. Your parents and I have talked at several parties, Martin," he explained. "I thought you might have dinner with us this week while your father entertains the delegation from Tennessee."

Martin was breathless and he nodded more than once. "Yes, sir. Thank you for your invitation, Mr. Cartwright."

"I’ll speak to your father tomorrow, then," Pa answered. His blue eyes settled on me. "And now if you’ll excuse us I believe Adam has chores to do."

We were no more than a block away from the park when Pa spoke again. "Do you have your mother’s permission to be with Martin?"

"Yes, Pa."

He took a few steps and his tone eased as he looked at me from the sides of his eyes. Did I see the hint of a grin? "Break any laws?"

My jaw nearly tripped me. "No, Pa."

A few steps more. "Back talk anyone?" I finally was sure of the humor in his voice.

I grinned and looked down at my boots. "No, Pa."

The steps stopped. I looked up at him and his left brow went up as his eyes sparkled. We both knew it was an unusual day when I didn’t get a little smart with someone. Despite the warnings Pa usually gave me about such behavior, he recognized it as something he would never break me of. "Adam."

Playing along with his good mood I said, "Maybe a couple of times."

"Um hum." We started walking again.

"Pa?"

"Um?"

I felt a need to restate my situation just so there wasn’t any misunderstanding. "I asked Ma. I’m not in trouble."

"No, you’re not in trouble if you asked your mother's permission," he agreed. "But if you did sneak out and you're lying to me we'll take a trip to the woodshed for a necessary talking to."

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and even though this, too, was a serious subject I gave him just a bit of back talk. "You mean a necessary talking to or a necessary talking to?"

He rested his right arm around my shoulders. "I mean a necessary talking to. Apparently you and your friend Martin call it a tanning."

I nodded to indicate I understood. "I figured that’s what you meant."

I never gave a thought to the way things were at our dinner table until two things happened. The first was when Martin ate at our house and the second was when we dined at Tante Jeanette’s home.

Martin was delivered to our house on Thursday afternoon by a grand carriage that made him look about two feet tall when he stepped from it. I knew when I saw his clothes that we were in trouble. He was dressed formally and even wore a vest and hat the way Pa did when he had business to conduct. Erik’s eyebrows rose in disbelief when Martin kissed Ma’s hand and thanked her for inviting him to dinner.

"Uh, Martin - " Pa sounded uncomfortable. "Why don’t you take off your coat and vest? It would probably be a good idea to let Adam take your tie into the other room, too."

Martin followed me up the three steps to the room I shared with Erik and Joe. He studied every inch of it. Erik’s and Joe’s toys paraded across a chest between our beds. My books stood and leaned on a shelf Pa had made for me. A slender coat rack held an extra shirt for each of us. I hung his vest, coat and tie over my shirt and motioned that we needed to go to the dinner table.

The entire evening was one shock after another for my friend. He watched Erik and me set the table and then couldn’t believe it when Joe was allowed to bring in a basketful of Ma’s fresh croissants. Erik and I went out to the kitchen to retrieve the other food and when we returned everyone waited for Ma to sit down and then we sat. We aren’t one of those families that hold hands while we say grace but we do fold our hands. Erik got the giggles during the prayer and Pa asked if he needed a talk to remind him how to behave. Erik assured Pa he didn’t.

From that point on, though, we joked, imitated one another, swapped riddles, tried to make up a story more outlandish than the last brother had told, asked for seconds, discussed articles in the newspaper, defended our opinions, and argued with Pa about whether potatoes knew they were going to die when they were dug from the garden.

Martin didn’t move for five minutes and when he did he was so quiet you would have been convinced he didn’t have a voice. I wondered if he couldn’t get a word in edgewise and then I recalled him telling me how he was expected to sit still while his parents and their guests discussed business and politics. He was probably expecting Ma and Pa to ask him about where he had lived and whom he had met and what he thought about land speculation. But he’d underestimated them. They treated him like one of us and when he finally quit looking at Pa like he expected my father to eat him alive along with the meal he started to enjoy himself.

Ma and Pa didn’t talk down to us and they always took into account that we were boys. There was no great sin involved when Erik accidentally tipped over his glass and I had so much trouble getting a section of fish to stay on my fork that it finally splattered on the floor. Erik burped loudly causing Joe to jump in surprise. He apologized right before I accidentally kicked Ma under the table. Then Erik and I bent over in laughing fits when Joe sneezed and splattered Pa with rice. Pa pretended to be angry and sent Joe into squeals of delight as he "westled the lion" just as Erik had when he was small.

Erik and Ma cleared the table because it was their turn and then Ma teasingly asked if we were too full for dessert. We shouted, "No!"

She shook her head and said she thought perhaps we simply did not wish to hurt her feelings and again we shouted but this time it was, "Dessert!"

After the table was cleared, we settled in the parlor and played pick-up sticks, our usual hand shadows, and riddles. Finally it was time for one of Pa’s stories. He held Joe on his lap and warned him that he would brook no disturbance. "Joe listen fow Pa," came the promise.

Pa’s ability to keep making up stories was amazing. I never heard him tell the same one twice. But it wasn’t Pa’s ability to tell stories that had Martin spellbound; it was the fact that he shared them with us. More than once Martin’s eyes roved around the room - to Ma sewing on her latest project, to Pa leaning back in his chair and holding a sleepy, nodding Joe, to a spellbound Erik who hung on Pa’s every word.

Martin was astonished.

"They’re nice," Martin said when we returned to my room to fetch his vest and other clothing. "You mother is kind and your father is - well, he isn’t nearly as - well - "

I had never known Martin to be at a loss for words.

His thank you to Ma and Pa was heartfelt and made me feel sorry for him in a way I can’t express. Something about our friendship changed. I didn’t know what it was until months later - he had been many places and had met all kinds of interesting people but I had a real family.

That weekend we visited Tante Jeanette. Since we’d been with her several times before, Erik and I were looking forward to it about as much as having a splinter pulled. When we first met her Tante Jeanette was nice enough and I had the feeling she and Ma were close. But Tante Jeanette married into an acceptable, old money family and she was about as formal a woman as I’d ever met. I sure couldn’t imagine her playing marbles with Pa, Erik, and me in the parlor the way Ma did.

That was another thing - us using the term "ma" came close to ruining Tante Jeanette’s nerves. "Can they not be taught to say maman and papa ?" she asked. "It is a small thing, yes?" I wondered why, if it was a small thing, it bothered her but I knew that kind of back talk would put me on Pa’s bad side - and ever since I’d felt his belt on my backside I’d been careful to stay on his good side.

She was also one of the least easy people around boys I have ever known. We were on our best behavior and obeyed the silent signals from Pa about when and where to sit. A slight shake of his head indicated we should remain quiet. But all the same she put her hand to her cheek or looked at Ma wide-eyed and asked how Ma and Pa could control all three of us at once. By the time dinner was served her tense nerves were affecting everyone. When two-year-old Joe tasted something he didn’t like and let it roll off his tongue back to his plate Pa scolded him. He dropped his arms to his sides in defeat and sobbed. Pa excused himself and Joe. He picked up my little brother and patted him on the back as Joe hugged into him. "Joe do wong, Pa?" he whimpered.

"Joe is doing just fine," Pa comforted. By then they were in the hallway and I heard Pa’s boot falls head for the front porch where he could sit in a rocker and let Joe drift to sleep in his arms. I wished I were with them.

The food was fair. I dabbled at mine - it wasn’t near as good as Ma’s even on a bad day - and then I decided I’d better make a better show of not wasting food in case Pa came back in to check on us. I sat up as straight as I could, dabbed the corners of my mouth with my napkin, declined politely when the servant offered seconds, and prayed the executioner would appear and put me out of my misery.

Pa finally reappeared. Joe was sound asleep and hung limply over Pa’s shoulder. As I said before, cannon fire couldn’t have stirred him. Pa laid Joe on a settee in the dining room and Tante Jeanette’s eyes widened. I started to tell her not to worry because Joe no longer wet the bed but I knew what would strike me as funny would not be amusing to her. Pa returned to his place at the table to eat his cold meal and, once again, Tante Jeanette expressed displeasure.

"Surely you do not allow Joseph to disturb your meals so?" she asked Pa.

Since Pa had just bitten into a cold shrimp, Ma answered. "The hour is later than when Joseph is accustomed to eating, Jeanette. He was fatigued."

"Then perhaps the children should eat earlier and allow Benjamin and you to eat at a decent time?"

I was getting a little tired of Tante Jeanette’s meddling into my family’s life.

Ma saw me tense and held up her right palm ever so slightly above the tabletop. "We enjoy our meals with our sons, Jeanette. We would have it no other way."

Her sister shook her head and observed that no one ate as early as children.

As if the dinner hadn’t been torture enough, we "adjourned" to the parlor for entertainment. Erik and I considered hand shadows, jokes, drawing, singing silly songs with Ma, Pa’s stories, learning French from Ma, and guessing games as entertainment. Tante Jeanette’s entertainment was a hired white-haired short woman playing a small instrument that looked like the result of breeding a piano with a harp.

I just thought the dinner had been dreadful. We were expected to sit as silently as the adults. We couldn’t even have an after-dinner drink as Ma and Pa did to lull us into a stupor. The entertainment, I decided, was punishment for every bad thing I had ever done in my life. It was even worse than Pa’s belt on my bare bottom. Well - no, it wasn’t worse because surely it wouldn’t hurt as long. Would it?

In danger of falling over the precipice into eternal numbness, I couldn’t believe my good fortune when the music ended and the adults stood to say good night. I thanked Tante Jeanette for the meal and the evening and, renewed, raced Erik to the carriage Pa had arranged for us to ride in. We forgot all our manners and vaulted in before Pa, carrying Joe on his shoulder, could help Ma up the steps. As soon as the carriage had pulled away from the house the same idea occurred to Erik as it hit me. Out of relief from all the strain we had experienced we wailed what we could remember of the last song in a horrible off-key version that should have sent every dog in the neighborhood into a howling fit. Then we fell against each other and held our stomachs as we laughed. The result of all our boyish roughhousing was that I tumbled to the carriage floor and fell on my back. Something about that sent us into gales of laughter.

Pa nudged my right ribs with the toe of his boot. "Can’t I take you anywhere you little upstart?"

My heart stopped as I realized we might be offending Ma. I slowly sat up, my backside foremost in my thoughts.

"The next time they misbehave," she said to Pa and her lips turned up at the edges, "we tell them we bring them to Jeanette’s and they will how-you-say straighten up tout de suite."

Erik frowned and leaned over me. His speech had improved but he still had that hysterical way of thinking. "Why are you talking about tooting, Ma?"

Pa rolled his eyes. "Don’t let him start, Marie. It’ll never end."

Did she heed his advice? Nope. "Tout de suite. It means - um - a bit like quickly, all at once."

"Like magic?" Erik asked.

"I do not understand," Ma answered. Heaven help her she was trying to make sense of the conversation.

"Things disappear all at once in magic. Adam and me saw this man at the square and he made one of Adam’s coins disappear all at once and it never did come back. Not quick or all at once or anything."

Why did Erik have to tell them about that? He never told them about the smart things I did – only the stupid ones.

Pa looked down at me and raised his left eyebrow. "Learn your lesson?"

I nodded because I was too embarrassed to say anything.

Ma shook her head, mystified. "How is it that we come from tout de suite to Adam losing a coin?"

"I’m warning you," Pa said. "Stop while you’re ahead."

"Pa, she’s more than a head. She’s got arms and legs and - what?" Erik stopped in mid-sentence when Pa frowned at him.

"Not another word."

Erik was confused - which signaled even more problems. "Pa?"

"Erik."

"I didn’t say a cuss word or anything bad, Pa. And I was real good at Auntie Jeanette’s and I ate the food even if it wasn’t as good as Ma’s and I said ‘ma’am’ and ‘sir’ and I did what you said. What’d I do wrong that I can’t talk?" Something about his argument sounded vaguely familiar.

"You better get quiet or he’s gonna stuff his boot down your throat," I warned. Something about my threat sounded familiar, too.

Erik’s chest swelled with confrontation. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Pa passed Joe to Ma and grabbed Erik’s left arm and my right one. We quickly jumped back, sat down, and watched him like two little sparrows keeping nervous eyes on an eagle. When he leaned forward I closed my eyes. The next thing I knew Pa’s strong right hand was over my ribs, tickling me until I wiggled all over the seat. I could hear Erik’s high-pitched giggle beside me.

"I can’t take you two scamps anywhere," he said when he quit horsing around with us.

Ma winked at him. "They are much like their father."

Pa grinned until his eyes sparkled like Erik’s did sometimes. I would have given anything to know what she meant by that.

Erik didn’t think it was fair that our little brother didn’t have to go to school when the public system was established in New Orleans. But I was thirteen and cherished the idea of education from someone other than Ma, Pa, and Mrs. de Ville. Not that they weren’t good teachers but - well - they could only spend so much time with me and this way I could have the better part of a day in a classroom. Despite the warnings I often received at home for talking back I never was in trouble in school. I think that fact surprised Pa a little.

Even more surprising for Pa was the way mild-mannered Erik changed. He was seeing how close he could get to that invisible line we knew Pa had drawn and I kept warning him it didn’t pay to tangle with Pa. I tried to protect my Erik. He was tall for his age and wound up in fights with someone who was picking on boys he considered underdogs. I warned Erik and he just rolled his eyes and told me to mind my own perfect-son business. Erik’s attitude, my fear for his behind if he didn’t straighten up, and the temper we had inherited from Pa boiled over into shouting matches between the two of us that the neighbors probably heard. Ma sure did. She would come into our room with a scowl on her pretty face and tell us to stop fighting and to shake hands immediately.

Then the problems started. I mean the real problems. After dinner one evening, Ma asked Erik to help clear the table and he told her he would do it when he could. Pa’s shoulders tensed.

"Erik, your mother asked you to do something. You are expected to obey her."

My brother let out a deep sigh and I witnessed something I hadn’t in years. He stalked over to Pa, swinging his arms like he owned the world, and said, "I can’t do everything, Pa. I don’t give you any trouble about going to school; I do my chores; I say ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’ to grown-ups; I eat what’s put in front of me; I help take care of Joe; I’ve set the table and done the dishes enough to last me the rest of my life; and I visit Mrs. de Ville because you tell me I have to. What else am I supposed to do?"

I don’t know where Ma’s and Pa’s patience sprang from. Pa never had much of a source when I was young.

Erik stiffened just as Pa did. "I can’t obey Ma ‘cause I have to finish the chores you gave me."

"You should have explained that to your mother."

My brother rolled his eyes. "If I spent all my time explaining around here I’d never get anything done." Declaration delivered, he turned on his heels and left the room.

Dark clouds built on the Cartwright horizon. Luckily Ma and Joe were at the market so they didn’t witness when the storm broke wide open on a Saturday afternoon. I was enjoying myself as I worked on math problems at the dining table. Pa sat across from me, studying business papers and making entries in an accounting book. It was one of those comfortable quite times we often shared. But it didn’t last long.

Erik wandered in from the courtyard and I could tell from the set of his jaw that he was looking for trouble. "I’m going to Jonah’s," he announced. Jonah was the friend he had learned "shoot" and "ain’t" from. He had also learned some bad habits and choice words that I had warned him about.

I had never told Pa I was going somewhere. I said, "I’d like to go to Martin’s if you don’t have anything else for me to do" or "May I go over to Henri’s, Pa?" But to flat out announce I was going somewhere - no, I wanted to live a long, productive life.

Pa closed his account book and thumped his pencil on the tabletop. "Who gave you permission to go to Jonah’s?" I heard the patience in Pa’s voice thinning and wondered why Erik didn’t. Leaving the room was not an option for me because my brother blocked my only way out. So I concentrated on my math - or tried to.

"I don’t need permission."

Ut oh. This was not getting any better.

"You’ll do well to watch your attitude." Pa’s blue eyes darkened. "Now."

Life was going to be bad if my middle brother didn’t snap to attention.

"I don’t want to watch my attitude," Erik challenged. I clasped my fingers behind my neck. Erik stepped right up to the table.

Pa didn’t say a word. That aggravated the devil out of Erik. "Dammittohell, Pa, you ain’t being fair!"

My ears popped in the silence that followed. I spared a look at Pa. His stunned expression quickly gave way to seething anger. Erik, who stayed upset about as long as a flea hop, backed away. He paled with the realization of what he had said.

"I’m sorry, Pa." He reached toward Pa in a supplicating way I wouldn’t have had the nerve to do. In response, Pa grabbed the upper part of his right arm. "Pa, I’m sorry," came the broken-hearted plea.

He should have saved the effort. He begged all the way out of the house. I knew Pa was taking him to the woodshed and I was glad for two things: Pa didn’t take his belt off the wall and I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t tell you I was happy it wasn’t me Pa had a hold of.

I didn’t know what had happened out in the woodshed when I ventured up the steps to our room. I climbed a few rungs on the ladder nailed to our bunk beds. Just as he had when we had been little, Erik had thrown himself on his bed and had cried into his pillow until I was sure he would make himself sick. Finally he rolled his head toward where I stood on the ladder. I wondered what, if anything, I should say to him.

He indulged in another round of wailing and then slowly, with an occasional whimper, came to a stop.

"If you want to stay on Pa's good side, you better not use cuss words," I told him not for the first time. Finally he listened.

Erik managed to sob, "I ain't g- gonna anymore, Adam."

"Use dagnabit or dadgumit or some of those other ones Jonah says."

"Those won't get me in trouble?"

"Nope."

"Good 'cause I don't ever want to go to the woodshed with Pa again. It was
so bad, Adam. Pa talked me to - to death and then he nearly spanked me to
death, too."

Erik had been disrespectful to Pa and all Pa had done was spank him?

I narrowed my eyes and leaned almost in his face. "He didn't use a shutter slat? He just used his hand?"

Erik wiped at his eyes. "His hand hurts something fierce, Adam."

"Oh quit your bawling!" I shouted as I jumped from the ladder to the floor. "It’s not like he broke your legs or something!"

"I’m impressed by your compassion," Pa said from the doorway to our room. He stood with a boot on the bottom step and a hand on each side of the doorframe. Once again I was bothered by the fact that I couldn’t read his eyes. "That wood won’t chop itself, Adam." He lowered his left hand so I could walk past him.

Just as I reached the steps, feeling I’d been dealt a walloping amount of injustice, I muttered, "It isn’t fair."

Pa chose to give me some rein even though he understood exactly what I was protesting. "The three of us take our turn at the chore, son."

I looked at him and noticed how I was closer to height when I stood on the top step. "I’m not talking about chopping wood, Pa."

He tilted his head and I could read his eyes then. "Oh yes you are," he warned, giving me my last chance.

I had a feeling Erik’s spanking had warmed up Pa’s arm and Pa was ready to take a shutter slat to my bottom. I went outside to obey orders.

Erik's behavior improved remarkably following that spanking and the talk he had with Pa after I left the room. He was much more like his usual easygoing self. Erik may not have done as well as me in school but you better believe he's a fast learner. I noticed that he started saying mostly "Yes, sir" instead of "Yes, Pa" after that, and he rushed to obey any time Pa or Ma delivered an order. And I'm pretty sure I haven't heard him swear since.

Martin and his family had taken a trip and he finally returned about a week after Erik learned his lesson from Pa. He never said where he’d been and I never asked. We were young and that kind of thing didn’t matter. We were just happy to be reunited. Martin was kind and allowed Erik to tag along with the two of us although I sensed more than once that we bored Erik. At least until we made an amazing discovery a bit farther down the square than we had ventured before. It was the food of the gods, cool and sweet and guaranteed to make you forget all your problems. We discovered the joy of iced cream.

My worldly friend told me how it was made and the way people had to dig deep icehouses to store it. Knowing New Orleans’ water table I didn’t believe a word of what he said. It didn’t occur to me that ice could be imported packed in straw and other insulating materials. The first time we ate the confection I had a headache that convinced me I would die. Erik froze his throat. After that we slowed down and approached iced cream with respect.

Our secret was closely guarded until Pa found us one day. I looked up at him guiltily and swiped at my mouth with my shirtsleeve. I was afraid he would scold us for wasting our money or for eating something that wasn’t what Ma and he called "good food." But Pa always has surprised me. He reminded us not to ruin our appetite for dinner and then walked away to buy a pecan and sugar candy. I laughed but Erik was a little baffled.

"He’s not mad?" my brother asked.

How could I explain that sometimes our pa was as much a boy as we were?

Erik was a bit more activity oriented than Martin and I. For fun we ambled out to some property Martin’s father owned, saddled two horses, and enjoyed a couple of races while Martin timing us. Erik was nowhere near the horseman I was but he enjoyed every minute of the rides and when we reached our destinations he always tried to catch me off balance and throw me from the horse.

In October of that year, Martin met me at one of the benches in a residential area. His eyes were more red than brown and his face was pale. When I asked him what was wrong he didn’t answer.

There was only one thing I could imagine that could cause such a reaction. "Are you in trouble?" I ventured.

He shook his head.

I was mystified. If he wasn’t in trouble then what was wrong?

"We’re leaving."

I knew what he meant but I chose not to understand it. "What do you mean leaving? Like to go away for a while?"

Martin took a deep breath. "We’re moving back to Virginia."

There it was again. Just when I felt close to someone they were gone - Inger, Dieter, Barbara, and now Martin. I could identify with the moving around Martin’s family did; I’d grown up on the trail until we had settled in New Orleans.

But I wanted to leave people behind on my terms.

I sought any way to continue our friendship. "There’s a mail route, isn’t there?"

Martin was more realistic than I was. He smiled ever so slightly. "We can try it."

We sat on the bench until Martin decided it was time to go home. He stood and held out his hand as he had the day we’d met. He sounded too old for our age when he said, "Best of luck, Adam. Get to California for both of us?"

I couldn’t return home crying the way I was so I leaned against a tree and finally got my emotions under control. I managed to walk, although my throat was tight and hot and my face felt burned.

Each summer, when it was time for the fever, my family left town; we could afford to by then because Pa and a partner had gone into the steamboat supply business. Most of the time we went upriver or to Mississippi. Mrs. de Ville was no longer visiting her country home and one time when we passed on the road near it I noticed a name on a plaque beside the gates.

"Why did Mrs. de Ville do that?" I asked from the back of the wagon.

Ma gave Pa what I had come to recognize as the "You must be truthful" look.

Pa motioned for me to climb up front and sit between Ma and him. I did so a little gingerly, wondering if was planning to stop the wagon and put me across his knees - although for once my conscience was clean as the air after a rain.

He asked me if I remembered when we spent the summer at Mrs. de Ville’s country home. "I didn’t know it at the time, son, but she was selling it."

Sell? How could she give up such a beautiful home?

Pa didn’t wait for any more questions. "She sold it to a wealthy planter. He grows cotton."

I knew what cotton was and how important it was to New Orleans’ economy and I was beginning to have an idea what the human cost was to grow and pick the crop.

"How could she do that?" I finally asked aloud and with hindsight I recognize it was one of the few times Pa misunderstood me. I had meant how could she part with the house - Pa thought I meant how could she sell to someone who owned slaves. "Sometimes our friends disappoint us, Adam. But hopefully it never comes to a point where we can’t agree on everything - friends are an important part of life."

My thoughts turned to Martin and the fact that there had been no mail from Virginia.

Go to Part 3