Wagon Wheels?

By Vicki C.

Quote from the Pilot episode:

Ben: I’m afraid my biscuits are almost as heavy as those logs we’ve been cuttin’

Adam: Whaddya mean, almost?

 

After their meal the boys returned to work on the house, Adam and Erik one each side of the crosscut saw and Little Joe clearing up the off cuts and stacking them. It was hot work and none of them spoke for a while, until Adam chuckled.

"What’s so funny about sawing wood?" Erik grumbled, stopping to wipe his brow with the back of his hand.

Adam did the same and put one foot up to lean the sawhorse. "I was just thinking. Do you remember when we made that wagon back in New Orleans?"

Erik looked puzzled for a moment then his eyes crinkled with laughter and his face lit up. "I sure do. You think Pa remembers it, too, and that’s why he said about the biscuits."

Adam grinned. "I’d bet he does."

Little Joe had been standing by listening; anything to have a rest from stacking logs. "What’s biscuits got do with a wagon and how come it’s funny?" he asked.

"Not all biscuits, Joe, just Pa’s biscuits," Adam explained and then he and Erik dissolved into laughter all over again.

When they had recovered a little Adam drew Joe to one side and they all three sat down on the stack of logs. "See, it was like this…"

*****

Five-year-old Erik sat on the kitchen step looking miserable. He wasn’t allowed to go anywhere on his own when Pa was at work and his older brother was busy doing something and wouldn’t let him help. Adam had yelled at him twice already when he had poked his nose into the cellar to see what he was doing. He sat just a while longer then sighing he got up and tried a third time.

He tried to tiptoe down the cellar steps. Adam was bent over one of the tables hammering nails into a box. "Whatcha makin’ a box for?" he asked.

His older brother jumped a foot in the air and hit his thumb with the hammer. "Damn…" he swung around on his younger brother. "What are you doin’ creepin’ up on me like that? I toldya to stay outside."

Erik scuffed his toe in the dirt of the floor. "Pa’ll wash yer mouth out. You ain’t allowed to say that word, it’s bad."

Adam drew himself up to his full height and before answering, put on all the bravado and superiority that a nine-year-old can. "If you don’t tell, he won’t know, will he?" he said glaring at Erik.

"Whatcha makin’?" Erik persisted.

His older brother sighed as if the cares of the world were on his shoulders. "It was a surprise for you, but I guess it ain’t gonna be one for much longer, so I might as well tell."

Erik’s blue eyes lit up with pleasure. "Fer me?"

"Uh huh! It’s a wagon." Adam showed his brother the rough box shape with shafts, it was maybe eight inches long and about three or four inches wide, roughly made but with all the splinters smoothed off. The sides were about two inches high and there were wire hoops fixed in place. "I was gonna find some old rags to make a cover," Adam explained. "You can take it off just like on the real wagon we had when we went west."

Erik surveyed the slightly lopsided box for a moment. He didn’t want to upset his brother but it didn’t look much like a wagon. He tried to work out how to ask his question. Adam could be right touchy if you weren’t full of praise for his work.

"How you makin’the wheels? Will they go round like a proper wagon?" He finally asked.

Adam had been wondering this himself. He’d tried cutting them from wood but with the big saw he couldn’t get a round shape. It wouldn’t do to let his little brother know he was stuck. "I got some ideas," he prevaricated.

Now that he had told Erik what he was working on, the two got together with some old red paint and brushes to paint the wagon. Adam fixed wooden battens to the bottom to attach the wheels but he was still no further on with ideas for wheels when Pa came home and they were called to supper.

Adam was still deep in thought as he ate his supper, which resulted in him taking longer than usual as he pushed his food around his plate. Pa was not a good cook but tonight’s rabbit stew was passable, or it had been when it was hot. It was now cooling rapidly and little pools of fat were gathering on the top of the rather thin, watery gravy. He was kinda pleased in a strange way that Madame de Marigny was coming to supper tomorrow, that meant Pa would make something simple and maybe there would be edible biscuits. He would put up with her company if it meant a decent supper.

Adam stared at his plate; it looked most unappetizing. He picked up a biscuit and tried to mop up some of the liquid but the dough had set so hard that nothing would penetrate it. He rolled the biscuit around his plate and then tried to sink his teeth into it. The gravy had not softened it one bit and it required all his jaw muscles to bite down on it and break off a small piece. He looked across at his younger brother who was munching his way through a biscuit in much the same fashion. Pa hadn’t even taken one and there were four still on the plate in the table centre.

It was Adam’s turn to wash the dishes and as he and his younger brother carried them to the kitchen an idea came to him. Maybe Pa’s biscuits were good for something; they sure weren’t good eating. Once the dishes were washed he sneaked the four leftover biscuits down the cellar.

Adam’s wish was granted. Not only did Madame de Marigny come to supper; she brought a chicken potpie and made wonderful melt-in-your-mouth biscuits. Both boys fell on the food as though half-starved. Adam could almost forgive her for spending time with Pa if she could cook like this.

"It is good to see you like my cooking," Marie observed when the boys had almost finished eating.

Erik muttered something, his mouth still full, earning him a glare from his father.

"What he means, Ma’am, is that it’s real good," Adam translated politely.

"Thank you, Adam. Your father is a good cook, too, is he not?"

Adam looked at her as if she had two heads. She’d eaten Pa’s cooking, well only once before tonight and he had never made biscuits for her, but surely she knew. Then he realised she was being polite and it was the funny way she spoke that made it sound like a question. He saw the nervous look on his father’s face and decided that maybe this was one time when a white lie was permitted. "Oh, yes, Ma’am. Pa looks after us real good, but his biscuits aren’t as good as these." He took a third one from the plate and spread it with butter, to prove his point.

Ben’s expression relaxed and he changed the topic, discussing school and the recent wet weather until the boys headed for bed.

Once they had said their goodnights and gone, Ben poured brandies for himself and Marie. Before sitting down he had to clear a few things from the sofa, among them the little red wagon.

"What’s this?" He held up the toy for Marie to see. "Did you bring it for them?" he asked; a little concerned that he not say how crude it was if it was a gift.

Marie’s eyes sparkled. "Non, ma Cheri. I believe Adam made it for Erik. The little one was showing it to me earlier."

Ben turned the small wagon over in his hands; the cover had now been fixed, sewn neatly from a piece of material taken from an old tablecloth, and the wheels had been fixed with a nail through each to the batten under the wagon. He ran it along the floor and is trundled along quite happily. Lifting it up again he inspected the underside and the red painted wheels. "How on earth did he make these? They are a little wide but they work well."

Marie burst into uncontrollable laughter. When she had recovered enough to speak she touched his hand gently. "Look closely, Ben. I think you made them."

"Me? I haven’t even seen this before." He took her advice and looked more closely at the wheels. His expression was at first outraged and then, he, too started to laugh.

"He is very clever, is he not?" Marie chuckled.

"Humph!" Ben grunted. "Insolent young pup." He set the little wagon down on its biscuit wheels and shook his head in merriment.

*****

"Did Pa ask ya about it in the morning?" Joe asked, when he had stopped giggling.

Adam shook his head, "Not for a few days and he was real nice about it. Said I was ingenious to think to use them as wheels. Said it was the paint on them that made them so hard."

Erik laughed. "But me and Adam knew they was real hard before we painted ‘em. He ain’t never been able to make biscuits."

 

The End