Centennial
Part 6
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Over the rim of his upturned coffee cup, Adam regarded his younger brother with grave, steady gaze. Not only had the boy been almost morosely silent throughout the Sunday-morning breakfast, but he had eaten virtually nothing, just pushing the food around, the way he only did when something was wrong. “Did you not sleep well?” Adam queried as he lowered the cup. Though the reclining seats of the Midland Centennial cars had eased the journey back to Philadelphia yesterday, he knew that his brother had been exhausted by the time they arrived. A restless night, combined with that residual weariness, might account for the boy’s unaccustomed gloom.
“I slept fine,” Joe said, eyes glued to the fork toying with his scrambled eggs.
“You’re very quiet,” Adam observed.
Joe looked up sharply and then immediately shuttered his eyes. “So?”
“You’re not eating, either,” Adam pointed out.
Joe picked up a slice of bacon with his fingers and bit off a sizeable chunk. “Satisfied?” he mumbled with his mouth full.
Adam emitted an audible sigh. “I thought we’d gotten beyond this, Joe,” he chided softly.
Joe glanced up again, this time seeing the sadness etched on his brother’s face. “Beyond what?” he asked.
“Beyond keeping secrets from one another,” Adam said, ebony eyes locking onto emerald. “I had hoped we were reaching a point where you didn’t feel you had to hide your troubles from me.”
Emerald eyes skewed to the side. “I’m not.”
Adam reared back, nostrils flaring. “Oh, don’t. If you don’t feel you can confide in me, fine, but don’t bother denying that something is wrong. I’ve learned to read the signs quite well over the years. You can keep your precious secrets—with one exception. I insist that you tell me if you’re feeling ill.”
“No, I’m fine, Adam,” Joe said quickly, the truth of his words conveyed in the fact that he could now meet his brother’s eyes. He licked his lips slowly, weighing the risk of exposing too much emotion to the paragon of emotional control. Finally, remembering all the kindnesses that Adam had shown him these last three weeks, he decided to chance having his older brother consider him a sentimental fool. “Don’t you know what day it is?” he asked.
Adam’s dark brows came together. “Well, of course, I do; it’s Sunday, the thirtieth of July”—suddenly, the light dawned—“and Hoss’s birthday.”
Joe nodded glumly. “We—we were supposed to be home by now.”
“I know,” Adam murmured in instant sympathy. Birthdays were big occasions in the Cartwright family, so naturally the kid would feel more homesick than ever on this special day. “I’m sorry you can’t be there, Joe.”
“You coulda been, ‘cept for me.”
“Don’t give that a thought,” Adam urged hurriedly. “Hoss wouldn’t want you to mope like this; you know he wouldn’t.”
Joe’s lips curved just enough to call the expression a smile. “I had such a nice present for him, too. Should’ve thought to mail it to him, but I ain’t been thinkin’ ‘bout nothin’ but myself.”
The grammar was appalling, as Adam had noticed it tended to become whenever his brother’s emotions were in control of his tongue. He wasn’t a mentor at that moment, however, but a concerned older brother. “I think you can credit the illness for that, buddy,” he suggested kindly. “Most of us do get a little self-centered when we’re feeling poorly. You’re not a selfish person; you’ve just had a lot on your mind.” He reached across the table to lay his hand over Joe’s. “Besides, you have a big brother to do your thinking for you.”
Joe raised puzzled eyes to his brother’s face.
Adam’s smile broadened, for he knew he was about to impart good news. “I shipped those carvings we bought Hoss at Maple Spring in plenty of time for them to arrive for his birthday. That is what you intended to give him, wasn’t it?”
Joe’s face lit up. “Aw, Adam, thanks!”
Adam drew back his hand and, adopting a stern, paternal visage, shook his index finger at his brother. “You can thank me by cleaning that plate, young man.”
With a grin Joe picked up his fork and attacked the eggs. “So, do you have plans for today? The Exposition’s closed, and it’s kind of late for church, and—uh—I really don’t want to go to the library again. You aren’t gonna make me stay in the room and rest all day, are you?”
That was precisely what Adam had intended, but he realized instantly that keeping the kid cooped up would guarantee a morbid fixation on how homesick he was. Making a quick change of plans, Adam motioned to the waitress for a second cup of coffee. “If you’re feeling up to just a bit of walking today, we might see some more of Fairmount Park,” he suggested, “the part outside the exhibition grounds.”
Joe flashed his bright smile across the table. “I feel almost good enough to climb those rocks on the Wissahickon again, big brother.”
Adam laughed. “Well, I do not! All this sightseeing does get a bit tiring for an old man like me, youngster, so I’m in favor of a quiet, relaxing day for a change. I’m even going to hire a carriage to spare my legs most of the walking.”
Shaking his head, Joe directed his smile so only the eggs could see it. He knew whose legs Adam was really sparing.
At Adam’s suggestion the two brothers composed a birthday greeting for the one back home in Nevada and sent the message by telegraph. Birthday or not, Pa and Hoss would be going to church, so the wire should reach the birthday boy quite early in the day. After trusting their good wishes to Western Union, Adam made arrangements to hire a phaeton, so he could do the driving and insure greater privacy and freedom of movement for their tour of the park. Though the day was warm, he elected to keep the folding top of the small carriage down, so as not to obstruct their view of the scenery. After all, the towering trees would provide ample shade while they were in the park itself.
Adam guided the horse over the Girard Avenue Bridge to the Green Street entrance into the section of the park known as Old Fairmount. The road led almost to the banks of the Schuylkill River and then turned north, passing the Fairmount Water Works. Tall trunks of birch and black walnut lined the path, spreading their leaves to form an arched green canopy. Arriving at an open space at the foot of a hill, Adam stopped the horse and suggested they get out. “This is Lemon Hill,” he informed Joe as they walked past the steamboat landing that had taken them to the Falls of the Wissahickon on previous trips, “and there’s something here I think you’d like to see.”
Passing women in billowing skirts of rainbow hues on the arms of men in frock coats and fancy cravats, they walked a short distance to the foot of an immense monument. The granite pedestal stretched toward the treetops, and the nine-and-a-half-foot bronze figure seated on it rose above the leafy bower. The bearded man of bronze held in his right hand a pen and in his left the scroll of the Emancipation Proclamation. The Cartwright brothers walked around the base, reading the inscriptions on each of the four sides. On the east the words, “To Abraham Lincoln, from a grateful people,” were etched, while the other three sides all carried words made famous by the beloved president during the Civil War, powerful words that recalled to both Adam and Joe the greatness of the man.
“Did you ever see him in person, Adam?” Joe asked, craning his neck to gaze up in awe.
“Yes, twice,” Adam said, “but only from a distance. “Once, when he came to review the troops, and later at the dedication of the National Cemetery at Gettysburg, though I had to skip class to do it.”
Joe stared at his brother, in shock. “Adam! I never knew you had it in you!”
Adam clasped his brother by the nape of the neck. “Oh, I’ve got lots in me you never knew, you scamp.”
Joe clucked his tongue. “Adam, Adam, I thought we were beyond that.”
Adam’s fingers dug into the scant flesh of his brother’s neck. “Throw my own words back at me, will you? For that, I should douse you in yon pond.” He proceeded to drag a perfectly willing Joe toward a small goldfish pond just beyond the monument. Once there, though, he released his brother with a light laugh, and they both sat on the edge of the basin, dabbling their fingers in the sun-warmed water and applying moist drops to the backs of their necks.
“Are we going up the hill?” Joe asked, glancing up at the terrace above them.
“I’m not sure you should,” Adam answered carefully. “It’s a nice view, but quite a few stairs to climb, and I have another place picked that will give you just as nice a view with less effort.”
Joe smiled ruefully. “Not that I’m turning into an old man like you or anything, but I don’t think I’m quite ready for that many stairs.”
“Okay, we’ll skip it,” Adam said with obvious relief. “There’s a restaurant up there, too, but it’s not where I planned to eat. Ready to get back in the carriage?”
Joe agreed and accepted the helping hand Adam extended as he rose from the rim of the pond.
Adam turned the horse around and headed back the way he had come, ascending a hill toward the Girard Avenue Bridge again. Re-crossing it, he drove under the bridge of the Pennsylvania Railroad and turned north onto Lansdowne Drive. The road rose and then descended, giving another fine view of the tree-lined shores of the Schuylkill River, this time from the opposite bank. Ancient oaks and chestnuts shaded the open carriage for about a mile, and then the road curved west through more open country, affording excellent views of the Centennial buildings as the Cartwright brothers followed the meandering path to Belmont Hill, on the west side of the grounds.
“Whoa,” Adam said, pulling up on the reins. “This is where we get out, Joe.” With a grand gesture he indicated the Georgian mansion at the crest of the hill. “There you are, my boy, the home of Judge Richard Peters, a restaurant now.”
Joe looked askance at the statement. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
Adam chuckled. “Well, you would if you’d read your guidebook to better purpose. According to that, he was Secretary of the Board of War during the Revolution and a friend to several of its important leaders: George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, John Hancock and John Adams.”
Joe grinned. “Them I know! So we’re having dinner where those men once ate? I’m impressed, Adam.”
Adam clapped a hand to his brother’s shoulder. “Ah, then let me impress you a bit more. Lafayette is also said to have been a guest here.” He smiled into his brother’s face, knowing that Joe would identify with the Frenchman who had aided the American struggle for independence.
They climbed the steps, strolling first along the wide verandah, from which park, river, bridges and buildings of the Exhibition spread out before them, with the tall buildings of the city far to the south. “You were right,” Joe said. “It is a nice view.”
Adam uttered a throaty laugh. “Oh, this isn’t the view I meant. You’ll see that after dinner.” Joe wheedled to know the location of that promised view, but Adam, typically, wouldn’t tell him. “In fact, you’ll only see it if you eat a substantial dinner, my boy. The meager amount you put away at breakfast was a disgrace.”
“Oh, it was not,” Joe protested, “but just for that I won’t show your pocketbook an ounce of mercy.”
“Suits me fine,” Adam tossed back with a sly grin.
Joe eyed his brother suspiciously; then he lifted both eyebrows and asked with a crooked smile, “You gonna charge it to Pa?”
Adam threw an arm around his brother’s shoulders and turned him toward the front door to the mansion. “Yup. After all, if we were at home, he’d be paying for a fancy meal, either in town or at home.”
“Brother, I like your logic,” Joe said, wrapping his arm around Adam’s waist. They entered the restaurant and were ushered to a table in a small room with low ceilings of elaborately molded plaster and finely carved panels of wood. The view through the narrow windows was limited, but for the moment the Cartwright brothers were more interested in the menu than the scenery outdoors.
It took but a brief consultation for them to decide to make the meal a truly festive celebration in honor of their absent brother. Both elected to order the same meal, beginning with a hearty bowl of corn chowder, followed by a first course of salmon croquettes with egg sauce and asparagus salad. Next came stuffed leg of pork, the deep incisions in the meat packed with a dressing of mashed potatoes and onion, seasoned with cayenne, salt and sage and served with gravy and cranberry sauce. Buttery turnips and greens in bacon drippings completed the main course, and the meal wouldn’t have been complete without thick slices of chocolate cake with boiled white icing. Knowing Hop Sing, that was exactly the dessert being served at the Ponderosa this very afternoon, and eating it made both the travelers feel close to their hefty middle brother, even after the very last crumb had been scraped from their plates.
Leaving the restaurant, Adam pointed out a tall wrought-iron tower adjoining Belmont Mansion. “That’s where you’ll get that grand view I promised you—Sawyer Observatory.”
Gaze slowly rising to the pinnacle a hundred and seventy feet into the clouds, Joe gulped. “Harder climb than up Lemon Hill, don’t you think?”
“We’re not going to climb it,” Adam snorted. “There’s an annular car around the shaft that will take us up.”
“Um, Adam, I—I think maybe I ate a little too much dinner to be trying that kind of thing,” Joe stammered, “but you go right ahead. I’ll just wait down here.”
Adam knew his young brother’s reluctance had nothing to do with an overfull stomach. The problem was, rather, the same one that made the boy eschew elevators in favor of staircases at every available opportunity, at least until his physical debility had forced him to make the opposite choice. Resolving to show patience, Adam laid a solid hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Joe, it’s perfectly safe,” he assured the boy. “Look, it’s carried by eight steel ropes, three-quarters inch in diameter, and if any one of them broke, that one could still hold four times the weight of the car.”
Joe bit his lower lip. “How heavy is that car?”
Adam took a deep breath. Patience, he reminded himself. Patience. “With a full load of thirty passengers, six tons.”
“And one wire’s supposed to hold all that?” Looking away, Joe shook his head. Adam didn’t lie, of course, but maybe whatever book or journal he’d gotten that particular statistic from wasn’t as careful of the truth.
“If need be,” Adam stated with cool confidence. “Furthermore, even if they all broke at once—as I’m sure even you would agree is highly unlikely—there are other safety features built in to keep the car from falling. So, how about it? Hey, do it in Hoss’s honor; he’d snap at the chance, you know.”
“I keep telling you I ain’t Hoss,” Joe muttered.
“I know who you are,” Adam said softly, turning his brother’s face back toward him. “It’s a marvelous view, Joe; don’t cheat yourself out of it. Please.”
Again looking to the top of tower, Joe took a long breath. “Okay. Let’s get it over with.” He strode toward Sawyer Observatory with grim-jawed determination.
Adam rolled his eyes. What an attitude with which to approach an exceptional experience. Catching up with Joe, he paid fifty cents to the attendant in charge and escorted his brother into the car ringing the shaft of the tower. They sat down, and as the car began to slowly rise, Adam stretched his left arm across his brother’s shoulders. “I’m proud of you, you know, for facing down your fear of these things.”
“Who says I’m afraid?” Joe demanded. “Don’t you ever say I’m afraid!” His eyes cut sharply around the car to see if anyone had overheard his older brother’s embarrassing accusation.
“All right, my mistake,” Adam soothed, though the slight shudder beneath his hand belied the prideful boast. Mindful now of other passengers nearby, he kept his voice low as he added, “Just for the record, I don’t consider fear a sin or even a weakness, little brother. That may be the biggest lesson I took home from the war. Everybody has fears, but a good soldier faces them. You’re a good soldier, Joe.”
Joe glanced up at his brother. It was still hard for him to see Adam as anything other than the fearless, undaunted hero of his boyhood dreams, but those ebony eyes seemed to shine with an understanding that could only have been born in a battle against the same foe. “It’s easier when you have a good lieutenant to look up to,” he said softly. “You—you’re a good lieutenant, Adam.”
Adam responded with a pat on Joe’s left arm, but the analogy gave him something to ponder as the car made its way skyward. Lieutenant, huh? Sure, Joe had only chosen that word because of his own reference to the war, but wasn’t that what he really was in the family chain of command, a lieutenant serving under Captain Ben Cartwright and responsible for those two young troopers who had looked to him for guidance practically from birth? A heavy responsibility at times, but one of which he hoped he would always prove worthy.
The annular car came to a stop, and the passengers got out and began walking around a gallery two and a half feet wide. After giving the wire network enclosing the space a test shake, Joe relaxed and looked out, a smile coming to his face as he enjoyed the grand panorama. Glancing to the side, he noticed people ascending a short staircase. “We going up?”
Adam gave the number of stairs a quick appraisal. The distance wasn’t great, but it was definitely more climbing than his younger brother had attempted since his surgery. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Joe. The view would be even more spectacular, of course, but—”
“Aw, come on, Adam. You’re not gonna give in to fear now, are you?”
“There’s a difference between fear for yourself and concern for someone else, boy,” Adam snorted.
“Yeah, I know,” Joe appeased quickly, “but I think I can make it, Adam. I promise I’ll go slow.”
“Real slow,” Adam insisted. He took his brother’s elbow and guided him up the stairs. They paused on practically every step, but by the time that Adam realized the climb had been a mistake, they were so near the top that it seemed wiser to go on than to head down immediately. Why do I let him talk me into these things? Adam scolded himself when he noted the strained set of his brother’s lips and the shortness of his breath. Some lieutenant I am.
Reaching the top level, Joe clung to the wire netting for support, but his face was enraptured. “Oh, wow, Adam, look how far you can see!”
“Yup, only aeronauts in a balloon have ever been higher,” Adam suggested.
“Ugh; don’t remind me,” Joe groaned. With his hands safely enmeshed in the wire net, however, he dared to peek down at the ground, amazed by the ant-like proportions of people wandering around on Belmont Hill.
They stayed up on the top platform longer than they might otherwise have, for Adam wanted to be sure that his brother was rested before again tackling the stairs. Going down was easier, of course, but Joe readily collapsed on the seat of the annular car. When they reached ground, Adam immediately herded his brother toward the carriage and drove back to the Transcontinental Hotel. Pulling up at the door, he asked Joe if he could make it to the room on his own.
“Sure, but I do think I’ll lie down awhile after I get up there,” Joe replied.
“An excellent idea—and use the elevator,” Adam ordered.
Joe raised a weary hand to his eyebrow. “Yes, sir, lieutenant.” Then he grinned. “Just for the record, though, I still don’t like rising rooms. Not scared, you understand, just don’t like ‘em.”
“Duly noted, trooper,” Adam chuckled. “Now get out so I can return this carriage.”
Joe climbed out of the carriage, gave his brother another sloppy salute and made his way inside. As ordered, he used the elevator and, as promised, went directly to his bed. When he awoke around five o’clock, Adam asked if he felt like going out for the evening.
“Sure, I’m fine,” Joe said, “and we really ought to do something special to close out Hoss’s birthday.”
“You don’t think we’ve milked that excuse enough already?” Adam asked with a chuckle.
Joe grinned back at him. “Can’t ever milk birthdays too much, big brother.”
“Ah, I’ll have to remember that when my next one comes around. Well, would dinner at the largest hotel in the area constitute milking it?” Adam queried, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his neck.
“Excellent beginning,” Joe agreed, “and maybe a show?”
“Well, you may not consider this enough milk since the admission is only fifty cents,” Adam chuckled, “but I thought we’d visit Operti’s Tropical Garden. It’s right next to the Globe, and I’m really not in the mood to travel all the way downtown for something grander than a band concert.”
“Band music is fine with me,” Joe said. “I think I’ve done enough riding around for one day, anyway.” Catching a glimpse of his brother’s telltale smile, he knew he’d guessed correctly the true reason his older brother wasn’t “in the mood” for a trip to a downtown theater.
The two boys freshened up and strolled leisurely across the street to the dining room of the Globe Hotel. Ordinarily, Adam would have been concerned when Little Joe ordered only a bowl of oyster stew for supper, but in this case his own overstuffed stomach provided ample motivation for a light meal. He had to restrain the urge to laugh at Joe’s choice, however, for it was another clear reminder of their brother back in Nevada, one of whose favorite meals was oyster stew at Chapman’s Chop House in Virginia City. For himself, Adam selected lobster salad and a fruit-and-cheese platter. “Let’s save dessert ‘til after the performance,” he suggested.
When they had finished the meal, the Cartwright brothers walked to the adjacent concert hall, a huge wooden building covered with corrugated iron and painted in light colors. The first glance, as they entered, revealed a musical setting unlike any either young man had ever seen. Operti’s Tropical Garden lived up to its name, for the room abounded with the sights and smells of the tropics, with its rocky nooks and beds of rare and beautiful flowers. At the back a large waterfall gushed over painted rocks, and Adam and Joe counted themselves fortunate to be seated where the coolness of that water abolished memories of the heat of the day and exotic scents seemed to be carried on the cascade plunging into the pool. The room was also decorated with frescoes and other paintings, and long lines of colored globes, each with its own gas jet, bathed both artwork and audience in a multi-hued glow.
The water slowly ceased falling, in preparation for the beginning of the concert, and Signor Guiseppe Operti, resplendent in a dark blue coat with red and gold trim, white pants and vest and military cap, led his sixty-member band onto the stage. For the next hour rousing music, more pleasing to Joe than to Adam, filled the air, but for both it had been a satisfying conclusion to an enjoyable and relaxing day.
“Would you prefer dessert back at the Globe or a beer in one of barrooms of Shantyville?” Adam asked as they walked outside.
Joe grinned. “Beer, of course.” Adam must be feeling in a festive mood to suggest a trip to the ill-fated Shantyville!
Adam chuckled. “Hoss would choose dessert, you know, and we are supposed to be honoring him.”
Joe shook his head, a glint of mischief in his eye. “Hoss would choose both,” he asserted.
“That he would!” Adam admitted with a hearty laugh. “Both it is.”
Both boys elected to eat only a dish of sherbet at the hotel, since the food booths along the street would supply ample protection from starvation later on. Then they made their way down Elm Avenue and hoisted a couple of mugs as a final toast to Hoss.
Later, as he lay in bed, Little Joe gazed at the ceiling, a warm, but wistful smile touching his lips. “Happy birthday, Hoss,” he whispered. “Hope Pa made your special day as grand as Adam made mine.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Smiling dreamily, Little Joe stretched his arms up and his toes toward the foot of the bed. He really appreciated the way Adam had let him awaken at his leisure since his illness, although he feared there might be more rest in his immediate future than he could possibly stand. Yesterday had been fine, of course, but he didn’t really relish another carriage ride around the park and, face facts, there wasn’t much else he was feeling up to.
Joe got up and padded to the window in his bare feet, leaning over the sill to look down into the garden. Surely, he could talk Adam into at least letting him go outside for a walk today. It wasn’t an exciting option, but he couldn’t think of any others his protective older brother would approve. Judging by the light outside, it was around seven o’clock or, possibly, closer to half past the hour, late by Ponderosa standards, but earlier than he’d been waking most mornings back east.
Deciding that Adam would find it harder to say no to an outing if he were already dressed, Joe turned back to his bureau. Then he noticed his tan shirt and gray slacks, lying on the chair with a fresh set of underwear and socks. Frowning, Joe picked up the clothes and started to dress, supposing that Adam’s choice indicated a day spent in the confines of the hotel suite. He shrugged. At least, there was still hope for that walk in the garden.
Sitting on the settee, Adam looked up from his perusal of the newspaper when he heard the bedroom door open and saw his brother come into the parlor. “Good morning,” he called pleasantly. “I was hoping you might wake earlier this morning, as I was getting hungry. Ready for breakfast?”
Noticing that Adam was dressed in eastern style, Joe plucked at his western shirt. “Won’t you be ashamed to be seen with a cowboy in the dining room?”
“Never, never will I be ashamed to be seen with you,” Adam said fervently as he stood up.
“Ease up, Adam,” Joe said with a light smile. “I was just kidding.”
“I know,” Adam said, “but having previously made some uncharitable comments about your appearance, I want it clearly understood that my feelings for you are not dependent on what you wear.” He stroked his freshly shaven chin. “Still, it wouldn’t be right for me to let you go out half-dressed like that.”
Joe took a swift glance down his body. Shirt, pants, socks, shoes—everything appeared to be in place. “I’m dressed,” he muttered, “unless you mean I should wear a tie.”
Adam laughed. “A string one, if you like, but I wouldn’t insist.” He cocked his head. “No, I’m sure there’s something missing.” He snapped his fingers. “Ah, I have it!” He stepped briskly into his own bedroom and came out with a package. “Open that,” he ordered. “I’m sure you’ll know which to put on.”
Curiosity stirred, Joe took the package wrapped in brown paper and unfastened the string. Opening it, he grinned when he saw four sets of suspenders with “Cartwright” stitched down one side and the first name of a member of the family down the other. “I thought you said this would make people gawk,” he reminded Adam.
“Let ‘em,” Adam said, picking up the suspenders with his name on them and attaching them to his trousers before putting on his frock coat.
Joe laughed with delight and put on the set with his name. “I think I’d better add that string tie, if we’re gonna look this fancy,” he said, moving back toward his bedroom.
“Suit yourself,” Adam called after him. “I want you to be comfortable.”
Joe sighed. Comfortable. That signaled another day in the room, sure as the world. Nonetheless, the fancy suspenders merited a tie, even if no one but a few fellow diners would see it, so he drew out a black string one and looped it around his neck.
Downstairs, he placed his order for scrambled eggs, bacon and a waffle topped with fresh strawberries; then he put on his best pleading look and said, “I don’t see why I have to stay in the room all the time, Adam. I’m really feeling much better. Just look how my appetite’s improved!”
Adam swirled his coffee around his mouth and swallowed. “I’ll judge the improvement when I see whether you actually eat all you ordered.”
“I will,” Joe insisted, “or most, anyway. I’m not wasteful, Adam.”
“No, you’re not,” Adam admitted, “and I’m not unreasonable, either. I don’t intend to make you spend the day inside.”
“So, a walk in the garden?” Joe suggested.
“If that’s your preference,” Adam said, nodding his appreciation to the waitress as she automatically poured him a second cup of coffee. “I thought we might take in the Centennial this morning, but it’s your choice.”
Joe ran his finger around the rim of his coffee cup. “How can I, Adam? I mean, I want to, of course, but that trip we made showed me that I just can’t stay on my feet that long.”
Lifting his coffee cup, Adam smiled. “I’ve got that all worked out.” He took a sip of the hot brew. “I’m going to rent one of the rolling chairs for you—”
“Aw, no, Adam,” Joe interrupted, whine back in his voice. “That’s for—”
“Ladies and invalids,” Adam interrupted in turn. “Yeah, I remember what you said before, but what do you think you are right now, kid?”
Unwilling to admit his physical weakness, but unable to deny it, Joe scowled.
Adam reached across the table to lay his palm over his younger brother’s hand. “Joe, it’s either that or sit around the hotel room reading and playing checkers until you’re stronger. Is that really what you want, buddy?”
“No, of course not,” Joe said quickly. “It’s just so doggone embarrassing, Adam. Folks’ll stare something fierce.”
“Let ‘em,” Adam said with a pull on his gaudy suspenders to emphasis his point. “You’re tough enough to handle a few stares, aren’t you?” Seeing that Joe still looked dubious, he added, “Well, you’re brave enough to give it a try, aren’t you? After all, if I’m brave enough to sport these suspenders, you can’t afford to let me outdo you, can you?”
Joe flashed a sudden smile. “No, I’d never live that down. Okay, I’ll ride in the silly chair.” The waitress served his breakfast, along with the ham, eggs and sweet rolls Adam had ordered. “What will we see today then?” Joe asked.
Adam sliced off a bite of sugar-cured ham. “That’s up to you, Joe. This is your trip now, remember?”
Joe nibbled on a strawberry. “You were doing a great job of the planning, Adam,” he said after swallowing the bite of fruit. “I’d rather you went on doing that, except . . .”
Adam sat with the ham poised on the end of his fork. “Yes?”
Joe kept his eyes on his plate as he cut a bite of waffle and swirled it slowly through the syrup. “Well, I didn’t get a good look at that art building, ‘cause I was feeling so rotten—or the annex, either, ‘cause of the fight, and . . . well . . .”
“You’d like to make another visit to Memorial Hall?” Adam inquired.
“If you don’t mind seeing those things again,” Joe said hesitantly.
Adam waited for Joe to look up, so the boy would see his smile. “I could look at those marvelous works of art again and again without ‘minding,’ little brother. Memorial Hall, it is. We probably won’t have time for the Annex today because I don’t want to keep you out too long. We’ll have dinner at the Centennial and come back here afterwards.”
Joe grinned. “Sounds good. See, I told you; you make the best plans.”
After finishing breakfast the Cartwright brothers walked across Elm Avenue to the main gate of the Exposition promptly at nine o’clock. Adam bought their tickets and handed them to the man at the gate before entering the turnstile. The two brothers then moved past the Bartholdi fountain and turned right, walking a short distance to Memorial Hall.
Adam stopped just inside the door to rent a rolling chair.
“One for each, sir?” the gray-uniformed attendant suggested. “Really, the best way to see the Centennial.”
Getting a taste of his younger brother’s embarrassment, Adam licked his lips. “Uh, no. No, thank you, just one for my young brother here.”
The employee of the Rolling Chair Company gave the younger man a surprised look, for Joe showed no outward sign of his recent illness, other than a slight loss of weight, and that wouldn’t be apparent to a stranger. Recovering quickly, the attendant rolled a chair toward the young man.
With a sigh of resignation, Joe sat down, propping his feet on the footrest.
The man in the gray uniform looked inquiringly at Adam. “Would you like to hire a porter to push the chair, sir? Only sixty cents per hour or $4.50 for the day.”
Adam politely refused. “No, just the rental of the chair, please. I believe that’s one dollar for three hours?”
“Yes, sir,” the attendant agreed, taking the silver coin Adam offered, “with thirty cents back for each unused hour.”
“I think we’ll be using them all,” Adam said with a smile. He got behind the chair with two huge back wheels and two tiny front ones, grabbed the handles projecting from the back and began to push. “Comfortable?” he asked his brother as they moved away from the rental stand.
“Yeah,” Joe said. He tipped his head back to gaze up at Adam. “Thanks for doing the pushing yourself. I like it better without some fancy porter along with us.”
“I figured you would,” Adam chuckled, “and face it, kid. Pushing you around isn’t exactly the kind of chore it would be if it were Hoss in this chair!”
Joe giggled. “Hoss wouldn’t even fit in it! They’d have to special-build one for him.” That comment was a slight exaggeration, but the chair would definitely have been a tight squeeze for a man of Hoss’s bulk. Joe, on the other hand, had room to spare on all sides.
“Where to first, my little art connoisseur?” Adam inquired.
“We don’t have to see everything again, Adam, just some of the better ones, okay?”
“All right,” Adam agreed quickly. “You tell me which are ‘the better ones,’ and we’ll see them again.”
“I like those Moran paintings best of all,” Joe said.
“Thomas, I presume?” Adam chuckled.
Joe returned the laugh. “Yeah, those remind me of home, but I wouldn’t mind looking at the other Moran’s, too, those nice sea scenes. I can appreciate them more now that I’ve actually seen the Atlantic Ocean.”
“Okay. The Cartwrights will visit the Morans—and Bierstadt, too, unless I miss my guess.”
Joe agreed, and the two brothers spent several enjoyable minutes gazing at majestic scenes of seas and summits.
“I know you don’t like it,” Joe said hesitantly, “but I would like to see that Gettysburg painting again. It means more to me now, Adam.”
“Okay,” Adam agreed, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. Though obviously still reluctant to view the bloody battle scene, he wheeled his brother directly before it. Folding his arms across the back of the chair, he leaned close to Joe’s ear. “You won’t find me there, you know. My regiment was placed just to the left of this scene that final day. We had a front-row view, but fortunately the Rebels didn’t charge us directly, as General Hancock had feared they would. The Twenty-seventh was only able to muster fifteen men that morning, and our position was the weakest of the entire line.”
Joe shivered as he realized how heavy had been the odds against his brother’s being one of that final fifteen. “I think I’d like to see something else now, Adam.”
“Anything in particular?”
Joe shook his head. “No, you pick. Things we didn’t see before, but you pick.”
“Let’s visit the French gallery then,” Adam suggested, thinking that the quickest way to distract his little brother from his somber mood. As he wheeled Joe past the Belgian gallery, however, he paused at the doorway, noticing the sculpture by Fraiken that they had seen before. “Joe, I’m sorry I said that you’d had life easy,” Adam murmured, recalling his earlier words when they’d viewed this representation of a loving mother with her child. “You’ve had some rough times, too.”
It was obvious from the look that crossed Joe’s face that he remembered the previous conversation and still felt a twinge of hurt feelings. Typically, though, Joe was quick to forgive. “Everyone has, Adam,” he said. “Maybe yours were rougher. I don’t know.”
Adam laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I don’t see much profit in competing for that honor, Joe. Everyone has his load to carry, and maybe what we need to remember is that our own burden gets lighter when we’re trying to help someone else carry his.”
Joe glanced up at his brother. “Like you’re doing now, for me?”
Adam rubbed his hands down both of his brother’s arms. “You’re no burden, buddy. I’m enjoying every minute of this time with you. Shall we see what the French have to offer now?”
“Yeah, I’m ready for some French flair,” Joe replied with a grin.
Adam laughed as he continued down the corridor. “I’m afraid you’re in for a disappointment, mon frère. Unlike some of the other countries, France didn’t send her best works.” He stopped the chair before a large painting. “This is probably the best one on exhibit.”
As he gazed at Carolus-Duran’s portrait of his sister-in-law, Mademoiselle Croisette of the Comedie Francaise, Joe smiled. “Beautiful woman on a beautiful horse—oh, no, I’m not disappointed, brother.”
Adam chuckled. “No, I guess you wouldn’t be.” He rolled the chair toward another painting. “This one’s quite popular, but thoroughly gruesome, in my opinion.”
Joe winced as he saw George Becker’s portrayal of Rizpah Protecting the Bodies of Her Sons, in which a Hebrew woman fought off an enormous vulture that wanted to feed on the five bodies tied to a scaffold above her. “Yeah, it’s gruesome,” Joe admitted, “but I always liked that Bible story. I used to think that Mama would have fought that hard to protect me—you and Hoss, too, of course—if anyone had tried to hurt us.”
“She would have,” Adam said simply; then he laughed as he squeezed his younger brother’s shoulder. “She’d have skewered that bird with her epee!”
The two Cartwrights viewed the other paintings in the French gallery, including another Biblical theme, Story of Ruth by Paul de Curzon and the Morvan King by Evariste Leminais, but when they had concluded their tour, Little Joe was forced to admit that Adam’s opinion had been correct. “They aren’t as good as the English paintings. I even like the American ones better, though you probably don’t think they’re as good.”
“Oh, the ones you like, the Morans and Bierstadts, definitely appeal to me more—partly, of course, because of the nostalgia they elicit,” Adam observed.
Joe had to think for a moment, but when he understood what his brother meant, he nodded.
Entering the Austrian gallery, Adam directed Joe’s attention first to a painting by Hans Makart. “Venice Paying Homage to Catharine Cornaro is reputed to be the finest painting at the Centennial,” he commented. As Joe looked at the grand court scene crowded with maids-of-honor, courtiers and attendants in opulent garments of every shade, Adam explained the history behind the painting. “On the death of her husband, the King of Cyprus, Catharine made a gift of the kingdom to the Republic of Venice. This represents the reception of that gift.”
The smile with which Joe met this information was so wan that Adam chuckled. “You do prefer landscapes, don’t you?”
“To this kind of thing, yeah,” Joe admitted. “I guess I don’t know enough about European history to have much feeling for scenes like this.”
“Maybe your mentor will have to do something about that,” Adam suggested.
“Yeah, maybe he should,” Joe said. “I mean, I know this is a much better painting than that Gettysburg one, but the other still means more to me ‘cause . . .”
“Because you identify with it more easily,” Adam finished. “I understand, Joe. Just soak in what you can and don’t worry about whether your reaction is what it should be, okay? Art is to enjoy, not to inspire guilt, something I had forgotten when we were here before.”
The Cartwrights viewed the rest of the paintings in the Austrian collection, but the piece that inspired their longest attention was a sculpture by Francesco Pezzicar, The Freed Slave. “Art critics don’t think much of this work,” Adam said, trying to keep an instructive attitude, but his voice broke and he could only stare in choked silence at the triumphant figure of a powerful black man, a broken chain dangling from his right wrist as his left hand held aloft a copy of the Emancipation Proclamation.
“I think it’s powerful,” Joe said, reaching back to touch his brother’s hand. “It’s—it’s what you fought for, isn’t it?”
Adam nodded, still so overcome by emotion that he couldn’t speak. As he stood before the sculpture, a black family approached to gaze in near awe at a moment in history that clearly had deeper meaning for them than for anyone else in Memorial Hall that morning. Few citizens of their color could be seen among the crowds attending the Centennial Exhibition, but the fact that they were here at all, mingling without restriction among those of lighter skins, indicated that the barriers were slowly beginning to fall. It was worth it, Adam thought, all the seemingly meaningless maneuvering for position, all the lives sacrificed. We have a long way to go, but it was worth it. He looked down to see his brother’s emerald eyes shining in understanding of the emotion he still felt inadequate to express. No words passed between them, but none were necessary. The squeeze of a hand and the pat of a shoulder communicated all that words could not.
Adam rolled Joe’s chair through a short corridor leading from the Austrian gallery to the room containing the German paintings. They paused briefly to look at the few canvases lining that hall, which included A Courtyard in Venice by Henry Jaeckel and Mt. Vesuvius by Heck, but nothing really caught the eye of either Cartwright until they entered the room beyond and saw the large equestrian portrait of Crown Prince William-Henry by Steffeck. Adam teased Joe about being drawn to any painting featuring a horse.
“Or a beautiful woman,” Joe reminded his brother with a grin.
“Not too many of those in this gallery,” Adam pointed out. Many of the German paintings were historic in nature, such as the two depicting the Surrender of Sedan in 1870 and The Flight of Frederick V from Prague, after the Battle of the White Mountain by Faber du Tour, one of the best in the German exhibit. There were not, of course, many beautiful women in the battle scenes, but a couple of the historic portrayals did feature female figures. One was Julius Schrader’s Elizabeth Signing the Death Warrant of Mary of Scotland, and another by Tolingsby, Lady Jane Grey Confuting Bishop Gardiner acted as its companion in tribute to the history of England.
Joe’s favorite German painting, however, was Herdert’s Evening Scene in the Zoological Gardens at Berlin with its life-like detail. To Adam, it was a reminder of how much both he and Joe had enjoyed their day at the zoo, and he resolved again to get Joe back there before they returned home.
The boys quickly finished the relatively small German gallery, and Adam suggested that they sit in the garden a short while before going to dinner. Assuming that Adam must be tired from pushing him around, Joe readily agreed. After briefly gazing at busts of Dante and Michelangelo amidst the greenery, they sat on a stone bench, and together they enjoyed the fragrant air and the slight breeze rising from the river nearby.
Since the Lafayette Restaurant was close, Adam returned the rolling chair and let Joe walk down the slope to the edge of Lansdowne Valley. After an enjoyable meal they returned to the hotel, where Joe at once decided to strip off his shirt and tie and stretch out on his bed. He napped for a couple of hours, and then at Adam’s suggestion moved to the balcony to enjoy the view of the garden and catch a breath of fresh air.
Joe heard the door to their suite shut and wondered where Adam had gone. Had it been somewhat later in the day, he would have suspected that his brother was ordering supper to be delivered to their room, but it was too early for that, and Joe couldn’t imagine what other errand might have taken his brother away. The mystery was solved when Adam returned, bearing a tray with a plate of sugar cookies, a tall pitcher of iced lemonade and two glasses. The brothers sat out on the balcony, munching cookies and washing them down with cool, refreshing lemonade. Draining the last glass, Joe gave a sigh of contentment. “You do come up with the best plans, brother,” he murmured.
* * * * *
Tuesday morning found the Cartwright brothers entering the Art Annex, not without a certain sense of trepidation, for both remembered being ignominiously ushered out on their previous visit. Not wanting to call attention to himself in any way, Little Joe sank into the required rolling chair without protest, but he couldn’t help noticing the odd looks several other visitors to the Centennial threw his direction. Some, evidently thinking him a cripple, gazed with pity; others seemed almost incensed by the sight of such a lazy boy. Doggone, but this is embarrassing! Joe thought.
“I’m going to show you the worst piece first, just to get it over with,” Adam declared, pushing his brother toward the back of the building. He stopped before an animated wax representation of a scantily clad Cleopatra coming to meet Mark Anthony in her barge. She was fanned by a black slave and attended by Cupid, who moved his head from side to side. A parrot perched on her finger, opening and closing his wings, while Cleopatra lifted her right arm and let it fall, over and over again, as she rolled her head alluringly. “Don’t ask me why this is so popular,” Adam said. “It’s really terrible, as I trust you agree.”
Joe’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Oh, I don’t know; I kind of like the old girl.”
Adam groaned, melodramatically striking his palm to his temple. “I had so hoped you were developing better taste than this, little brother. This is nothing but an explicit—and I do mean explicit—advertisement for the museum of anatomy here in town.”
Copying his brother’s dramatic attitude, Joe clapped a hand to his heart. “Why, Adam, I figured you’d be in favor of anything that advertised a museum!”
Adam turned the chair away from Cleopatra’s ample anatomy. “Well, if you’d really like to visit the museum, little buddy, and learn all about the parts of the body, perhaps consider going into medicine as a profession . . .”
Joe gagged. “How can you suggest such a thing so soon after breakfast?”
Adam chucked Joe under the chin. “Touché, little brother; you had that one coming! Now, if you’d like to see a better treatment of the ‘old girl,’ I’ll be glad to show it to you.”
Joe swept his hand forward. “Push on, brother; push on.”
Adam pushed as vigorously as the crowd would permit, and soon he had Joe parked directly in front of a two-ton marble, which depicted the Queen of the Nile seated in an ornate chair, head dropping over her left shoulder, right hand still clasping the fatal asp. “What do you think, Joe?” he asked after giving his brother a few minutes to examine The Death of Cleopatra.
“Yeah, this is a lot better,” Joe admitted. “The other one looks like a kid’s toy next to this. She looks strong, even in death.”
Pleased by his little brother’s discernment, Adam nodded. “Just what I was thinking; it really communicates a personality triumphant over all obstacles, and that reflects the background of the sculptor, from what I’ve read. Edmonia Lewis is the daughter of a Chippewa Indian and a free black man; in fact, she’s one of only two black artists represented here at the Centennial.”
“Who’s the other?” Joe asked.
“I’ll show you.” Adam immediately swiveled the chair around and began pushing in the opposite direction. To see the exhibits in such a haphazard way went against his grain, but if it made the art more meaningful to Joe, he was willing. “Here’s the other one,” he said, stopping in front of a canvas on which a herd of sheep grazed along the branch of a creek with a hill in the background.
Joe read the metal plaque below the painting. “Under the Oaks. I like this one, too.”
“It’s very well done,” Adam agreed enthusiastically, “and, in fact, won a prize here. An article I read by a prominent art critic expressed the belief that this is one of the finest paintings in the American department and predicted that Edward Bannister will one day be considered America’s first important black artist.”
Joe grinned. “I guess I don’t feel qualified to pass judgment on that, but I do think this Bannister fellow would do better with a more worthy subject.” He laughed at his brother’s quizzical look. “Come on, Adam, I’m a cowman. You can’t expect me to get too excited over a herd of sheep, can you?”
Adam shook his head, amused, but a bit perturbed with himself for falling into the trap so easily. He was glad, however, to see Joe acting more like his old, healthy, exasperatingly teasing self again. Although emotional displays of all kinds—anger, sentiment, turmoil—were always close to the surface with Joe, it was what Edwin Booth had called his “silvery laughter” that seemed most natural, and Adam realized that it was what he had missed most during the early stages of Joe’s illness and recovery. Thank God those somber days were behind them!
“Hey, there’s Aurora!” Joe cried, pointing off to their left. “We really ought to pay our respects, don’t you think?”
Adam laughed. “Oh, by all means. After all, we did defend the lady’s honor.”
“Honor, nothing!” Joe cried. “We saved the lovely lady’s life.”
“Raise your voice, little brother,” Adam snorted. “I don’t think the Centennial guards heard you.”
Joe ducked his head. “Yeah, I guess I was a little loud, and I sure don’t want them comin’ ‘round again. Sorry, but can we see the lady?”
“Sure.”
After paying their respects to Aurora and a number of other voluptuous ladies wearing little more than a smile, Adam pointed the rolling chair in the direction of less provocative pieces of marble. Looking at one, Caroni’s Butterfly Youth, Adam was struck by how it captured his younger brother’s impetuous spirit, flying from one thing to another, only to end up trapped in his own net, just like this boy chiseled from stone.
“Oh, you’re funny, Adam,” Joe said with a scowl when his brother shared this observation. “Maybe I’ll just have to find a sculpture that reminds me of you, something like a man being buried under an avalanche of books!”
“Decide to study art, little brother,” Adam suggest with twitching lips, “and you can sculpt it yourself.”
Joe reached back to slap his brother’s hand. “No more school talk. You promised.”
Chuckling, Adam rubbed the back of his brother’s neck. “Just teasing. Here, take a look at this piece. I know you like Caroni’s children.”
“Aw, now that one makes me think of Hoss,” Joe murmured. First Capture showed a little boy catching a sparrow in his hand.
“Yeah, he was like that as a kid,” Adam said in fond reminiscence, “always picking up some bird or animal in the woods. Always skittered off when I tried it, but they just seemed to know he’d be gentle with them.” He pulled out his pocket watch and opened the case. “It’s getting close to noon. Is there anything else you’d like to see here before dinner, buddy?”
“No, I’m hungry,” Joe said. “Where are we eating?”
“I thought we might try the Grand American Restaurant today,” Adam suggested. When Joe expressed his pleasure with that idea, Adam aimed the rolling chair for the entrance, where he turned it in. “We’ll walk straight through Memorial Hall and catch the West End Railroad to the restaurant,” he informed his brother.
“I can walk, Adam,” Joe protested. “We’ll have to circle half the park to get there on the train.”
“So?” Adam rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder as they climbed the steps to the north entrance to Memorial Hall, centered between twelve arched windows. “Look, Joe. I know I said it was your trip now, but I will still make all decisions relating to your health. You probably could make it, but it’s a hefty hike and I don’t want you tired out needlessly. We take the railcars.”
“Yes, sir, whatever you say,” Joe grumbled, “railcars, rolling chairs, afternoon naps.”
“Right on all three counts,” Adam said, grinning as he threw an arm around his brother’s shoulders.
They passed through Memorial Hall, where they purchased their five-cent tickets for the West End Railroad, and walked to the platform outside to wait for the next cars. Joe looked at the cloud-covered sky. “Hey, you think it might rain?”
“They don’t look like rain clouds,” Adam replied, “but it’s definitely cooler than it’s been since we arrived back east.” The light breeze wafting across the unsheltered platform made the wait for the train positively pleasant, but the Schuylkill, the larger of the two locomotives operating on the line, arrived within ten minutes and the Cartwright brothers boarded.
Getting off the railway in front of Agricultural Hall, they walked across the road to the Grand American Restaurant, just south of that exhibition building. Passing through a pavilion devoted to the sale of ice cream and other light refreshment, they entered the largest restaurant on the grounds. It was built around three sides of a courtyard, and Adam asked to be seated where he and Joe would have a good view of the well-trimmed lawn with its fountains and flowers.
“Do you wish to order à la carte or table d’hôte?” the waiter seating them inquired.
Joe stared blankly at the man.
“Do you want to see the menu or eat from the buffet?” Adam interpreted for him. “I believe I’ll try the buffet, but you may do as you please.”
“I’ll do that, too,” Joe said quickly, smiling at his brother after the waiter told them where the general table was located and left. “Thanks. I had no idea what he was saying.”
“Let’s see what that buffet has to offer, shall we?” Adam suggested, standing.
Joe got up, too, and followed his brother to a long table loaded with a variety of meats, vegetables and condiments. They filled their plates with slices of carved roast beef and pork, stuffed bullock heart, fried fish and chicken, green beans and peas, carrots and potatoes, eggplant fritters and corn on the cob, along with pickled mushrooms and eggs and spiced peaches. There were several types of pie and cake available for dessert, but neither boy found room on his plate for that on the first trip to the table. Adam was pleased to see that his younger brother had put a little of almost everything on his plate and only hoped the boy would eat a decent portion of what he’d taken.
Adam had finished one plate and made a second trip to the buffet table for roast beef and vegetables, while Joe, whose eyes had been a bit bigger than his stomach, had only completed about three-fourths of his meal and was dawdling over the rest. Suddenly, from behind Adam came the sound of furniture crashing and women shrieking. Adam’s head jerked up, and the first thing he saw was his brother’s green eyes, flared wide in astonishment. Adam swiveled in his chair to see what was causing the commotion, and he, too, gaped at the sight of a horse bolting through the main dining room, scattering tables, chairs and diners in all directions.
Before he could recover from the shock of seeing an animal loose in the restaurant, however, Adam caught a glimpse of a pair of gray broadcloth trousers streaking past him, and his heart leaped to his throat. “Joe, no!” he yelled, springing from his chair and charging after his brother.
Normally, Joe could outrun him, but the boy’s recent illness must have slowed him down, for Adam managed to catch up just as Joe reached for the black horse’s trailing harness. Adam snatched his brother away from the horse, shielding him with his own body as he propelled Joe back out of danger. Hearing a wild neigh, he thrust the boy into a chair. “Stay!” he dictated fiercely; then he turned and ran back toward the rearing horse. “Easy, boy, easy,” he said, moving cautiously toward the head of the terrified animal.
“Watch yourself, sir!” warned the liveryman, grappling for the horse’s harness. “Best leave this to the professional.”
Adam arched an eyebrow, thinking that he’d probably put in more hours handling horses than the self-proclaimed professional, although there was, of course, no way for the man to know that. All the liveryman saw was a stylishly dressed eastern gentleman, well intentioned, but likely to get himself hurt.
Ignoring the needless admonition, Adam grasped the harness on the opposite side of the horse and helped the liveryman bring the excited animal under control.
“I’ve got him now, sir. Please, sir!” the man pleaded.
Seeing that the man did, indeed, have a firm grip on the draft animal, Adam turned loose. Straightening his frock coat, he headed back toward Joe.
When he saw his brother again out of his chair, standing far too close to the scene of the recent ruckus, Adam exploded. Grasping the boy by both shoulders, he gave him a single, solid shake and then released him, remembering, even in his anger, that Joe wasn’t up to any rough handling. “What were you thinking?” he demanded.
“That someone could get hurt!” Joe protested, seemingly oblivious to the reason for his brother’s agitation.
“Someone certainly could have gotten hurt—you!” Adam fumed. “You’re in no condition to play the gallant knight, young man!”
“Well, someone had to,” Joe insisted hotly, “and I’m good with horses, Adam.”
Adam took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. “Yes, someone had to,” he hissed, “preferably someone who wouldn’t rip open his recent surgical incision doing the job!” He took two more slow, calming breaths. “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.
“I’m fine,” Joe muttered testily.
“Are you sure? Are you in pain?” Adam inquired, noticing the hand resting on Joe’s right side. “I can take you to the Medical Department if you’re the least bit shaken. In fact, I probably should.”
Seeing his brother’s genuine concern, Joe’s scowl evaporated. “I’m sure, Adam. Don’t worry.” He touched a hand to his brother’s shoulder. “Look, I guess I did sort of act first and think later. I—I wasn’t the best person for the job this time, no matter how good I am with horses, but it all happened so fast, I just didn’t think.”
Adam resisted the temptation to say, “You never do,” and simply nodded, realizing that Joe couldn’t have reacted differently, any more than he could have. He had been only seconds from lunging for that horse himself when the sight of his younger brother flashing past him had driven out all other considerations. “I understand, Joe,” he said after taking another deep breath. “Just don’t give me another scare like that, all right?”
Joe smiled a bit wryly. “I’ll try, Adam, but horses bounding into restaurants are a little hard to predict.”
Adam put his head back and guffawed, but in the pandemonium around them, no one noticed. “That they are!” He looked at the shambles the incident had made of the restaurant and shook his head. “I think it’s definitely time to get back to the hotel. If you didn’t get enough to eat, we can pick up something in one of the booths outside.”
“Well, maybe a piece of pie or a Centennial waffle,” Joe said.
Adam arched an eyebrow. “Or both?”
Joe grinned at the reference to his pre-surgical appetite. “Just the pie, I think.”
“Why don’t we get that back at the Transcontinental, then?” Adam suggested. Wanting to get away from the chaos as quickly as possible, he led Joe out the south entrance, which opened onto the courtyard. As they exited, however, he noticed the Adam’s Express wagon from which the horse had broken free, and the fear he’d felt minutes before came rushing back at him. His legs buckled and he sank abruptly to the steps, dropping his head into his hands.
Concerned, Joe sat down beside him, touching a hand to his brother’s bowed head. “Adam?”
Expression dazed, Adam looked up. “And I thought this would be such a nice, relaxing place for dinner.”
Joe gave him a sheepish grin. “Well, you always said I was a magnet for trouble.”
Adam just shook his head.
Concern growing when his brother didn’t rise to the bait, Joe leaned forward to look intently into Adam’s face. “Hey, you okay? Maybe I should take you to that Centennial Medical Department!”
That jest, at least, brought a faint smile to Adam’s lips. “No, I’m okay; just got to me for a minute. You really could have been hurt in there, kid.”
Joe gave Adam’s knee a quick squeeze. “Not with you around. I—I always feel safe when you’re around, Adam.”
Adam’s smile broadened.
“Guess I don’t give much thought to how hard it is on you, though, always having to be the responsible one,” Joe said. “Hey! Maybe we ought to rent one of those rolling chairs for you, and let me push you to the gate.”
Adam cocked his head, pursed his lips and stared his brother down.
“Uh, no, probably not a good idea,” Joe admitted with chagrin.
“No, not a good idea,” Adam stated dryly, adding with a smile, “but I do appreciate the thoughtfulness behind it. Let’s just catch the train and ride back to the entrance, shall we? I could definitely use an afternoon of relaxing in our suite.”
Joe let loose a mischievous cackle. “So long as no horses come up the elevator!”
Adam gave an obligatory groan as he stood to his feet and took Joe’s arm to help him up. They walked around the restaurant to the railcar station, boarded and rode back to the main entrance. Crossing the street, they each had a piece of pie and a cup of coffee in the peaceful, uncrowded dining room of the hotel. After they reached their suite, however, Adam insisted that Joe lie down for a while. It was obvious to him that his younger brother was tired, and Adam feared that the morning had been too stimulating for the recuperating boy. For that reason he decided to forego his original plan of taking Joe to the theater that night. Thinking a quiet evening was best, he took his brother, instead, to nearby Doyle’s Restaurant for supper and then returned to the hotel to make an early night of it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Having heard his brother moving around in the other bedroom, Adam rapped on the door and popped his head in to say, “Dress nicely this morning, please. I’d recommend the outfit you wore to Commencement.”
Reaching for a towel, Joe turned from his washbasin. “Why? Yesterday you didn’t care what I wore, and today it’s got to be practically the best I own? Sometimes, Adam, you just don’t make sense.”
“I know I’m being inconsistent,” Adam admitted with a self-condescending laugh, “but I have my reasons.”
Joe tossed his brother a playful scowl. “Any reason a fellow can’t know what they are?”
Adam shrugged. “Just thought I’d surprise you, but I guess it doesn’t matter. I thought we’d stop in at the Photographic Building and have our pictures taken.”
A vibrant smile replaced the half-hearted scowl. “That’d be nice. Can we each have a copy—and one to send home to Pa and Hoss, too?”
Wagging an admonishing finger, Adam nodded. “We may, yes.”
Joe threw back an impish grin. “I thought you weren’t going to start that mentoring ‘til we got home, but there you go, correcting my grammar again.”
Adam chuckled. “Sorry. Habit. Now, get dressed, please.”
“Sure,” Joe said. “May take a littl