When the dishes were done, Darby made a quick trip to the outhouse.
He came in took his
jacket off and hung it on the nail near the door. He went over to
the bed and took off his boots.
Wolf was still sitting at the table finishing up his coffee. He looked
like a man lost in thought.
When Darby positioned himself comfortably back against the wall on his side
of the bed, he
ventured to rattle Wolf Stoddard from whatever realm he was visiting.
"Do you think you could read me another chapter of that Count?" Darby
asked, barely
concealing the youthful eagerness and hope in his voice.
Wolf let out a long, tired sigh. He stood up and rinsed his cup
in the sink. Then he walked over
to the bed and reached down and picked up the hairbrush that lay on top
of Darby's belongings.
"Not tonight, boy, we've got things to get settled between us."
When Darby saw the wooden hairbrush, he panicked. He tried to
bolt from the bed, but his
sore shoulder and still weakened state cut down on the usually sprightly
fashion he bounded in
and out of the bed most times. Wolf was braced for opposition, as
he caught Darby around the
waist with his left arm and sat himself down on the edge of the bed, all
in one clear, fluid motion
of grace and strength.
The bundle of determined energy that struggled in his arms was quickly
flipped and pinned.
Darby's legs were trapped by Wolf's right leg, his left arm was carefully
positioned under the
weight of his body removing it from the battlefield and keeping it from
further harm. Wolf
positioned his left forearm across Darby's lower back, accomplishing the
twofold purpose of
pinning him down over his knee and securing his right arm along the small
of his back. Wolf
pushed the bottom hem of the nightshirt up over Darby's waist exposing the
small, round flesh of
his white backside. The cool night air on his exposed bottom sent
a pitifully frightened wail out of
the boy, "NO!"
"Yes, Darby. I keep my promises. You knew I'd come for you, and
you knew what I said
would happen when I found you."
"Please, I said I was sorry. I'll never do it again."
"No, I don't think you will, or at least you'll think long and hard on it."
When he realized Wolf wouldn't be swayed by apologies, he started in
on his all-time favorite
technique for showing displeasure. A technique that used to turn Sophie's
face red with shock,
and anger his mother no end. A technique that the women learned to
live with, but never could
accept as being a part of this naturally sweet young boy's style.
No one ever figured out the bluff
and bluster was all a smoke screen for a very frightened and insecure young
man.
"You bastard, you son of a bitch, Mama never punished me, Mama never
let anyone treat me so
brutally, Mama would have stomped your..."
WHACK!
"Ow, I hate you, damn jackass..."
WHACK! WHACK! This time the hairbrush came down in two consecutive, full-force blows.
"Mama let you get away with murder. Your mama should have washed
that foul mouth out with
soap. But I have another method of correction," Wolf advised
as he brought the hairbrush
down in a steady, even rhythm. Right cheek, left cheek, right cheek,
left cheek.
"God damn you! God damn your damn...OW! You son of ... OOOH!
I hope you rot in
hell...NO!"
Wolf started on a definite pattern now to accompany the stream of swats
that were being applied
to Darby's red bottom. Starting at the top and working his way down
over one cheek and
working his way back up the other, making sure every inch of the rebellious
territory was
conquered. Keeping up the forceful blows, but tempering them with
caution and mercy, he
meted out the much-deserved punishment. Save for the original full-force
blows that were meant
to relay the message that nothing but complete surrender could be considered
an option, Wolf
exercised restraint. The boy was not yet fully recovered and he didn't
want to destroy the eager
and wild spirit.
Wolf started another round as he listened to the last of the vehement
expletives fade off into
uncertainty. He increased the forcefulness of the blows as a brief
memory flashed before his
eyes, the boy lying in the snow, bleeding and curled in a ball, exposed
to the elements with the
total disregard brought upon by a self-centered brat. Well, the brat was
the one he was
punishing, not the sweet boy hidden beneath, Wolf reminded himself.
"Please stop. It hurts." Darby buried his face in the blankets
that pooled and blistered around the
warm bed, souvenirs of his lengthy convalescence. He tried to pull
his right hand free from
Wolf's grasp. He wiggled his butt in vain attempts to avoid further abuse.
His legs jerked
involuntarily with each forceful blow to his punished behind. He wept
and cried and pleaded,
and at one point the little boy burst forth with a childish cry, "Mama would
kill you for hurting
me."
Then, as if realizing the childishness and complete embarrassment this
statement called forth, he
let out a pathetic sigh of utter despair. Darby quietly melted across
the older man's knee and
resigned himself to the punishment. Tough hombres didn't last long
when they lay helplessly
across someone's knee with their backsides bare and exposed for retaliation.
Tough hombres
didn't make threats using their mamas, mamas who weren't around to hold
them and comfort
them and protect them.
Wolf stopped the paddling. He threw the wooden brush on the pile
in the corner. He looked at
the red bottom he had familiarized himself with in the cave, the back of
Darby's head so
pathetically disarrayed and unkempt, the thin frame that made him helpless
in any match against
Wolf. He hurt for the boy. This lost, terrified little mite
was something he understood, something
that tugged at his heart with a definite need. The scrutiny was now
tempered with knowledge
and understanding. The figure trapped helplessly across his knee was
more than an outlaw
deserving of punishment. Now it was someone he cared about and wanted
to keep safe. The
rules of the game had changed.
Then he shook the passing thought and steeled himself. Not done, quite
yet. He positioned his
large hand over the already hot backside and took up another heated frenzy
bombarding the
tender flesh with a new sensation of pain and recompense.
Darby started wailing in a new and creative expression of his discomfort,
the stinging slaps were
adding new meaning to the expression "wakeup call." The hairbrush
had paved a clear path to
every nerve ending of his posterior and the large, callused hand was playing
every fiber with
practiced skill.
"Wolf! Woooolllllffffff!"
"What Darby?" Wolf asked as he continued to spank his captive.
"Pleeeeaase. Stop. Please. I'm begging you."
"Why, Darby? Why should I stop?"
"Because I'm sorry, I've learned my lesson, I'll behave. Please, Wolf."
Wolf pulled the small hips in closer to his own belly, slightly raised
his left leg pushing the two
small mounds up in a nice, rounded target. Then he landed six full-force
blows with his hand
drawn completely back.
"IEEEE. UUUUHHHH! OWWWW! OOOOH! NOOOOOO!
AAAAGH" Then the
quivering, sobbing boy with no more hostility, belligerence, or anger surrendered
to the wiser
forces of strength and justice. Wolf let him lay there for several
seconds crying his eyes out in the
bedding. Then he lifted the boy by his shoulders, careful of the left, and
walked the pliant figure
into the corner of the cabin by the fireplace. He turned the youth
into the corner and pressed his
forehead against the spot where the walls met. Darby rubbed frantically
at his bottom trying to
rub off the stinging layer of flesh.
"A little time to think about what you did, the ramifications of such
future actions, and how you
want to act from here on out." The night air was cool, but Wolf could
feel the warmth coming
from the fire he had burning. He wanted to make sure Darby would be
warm enough doing his
penance. He then pulled the rocking chair into position in front of the
blazing fire and listened to
the sobs coming from the corner as he sat himself down.
"You hate me, don't you?" A soft, pathetic question came out of the far reaches of the room.
"How do you figure that?"
"You wanted me back to do the chores, the cooking, the repairs...<<hiccup>>
You don't care
about me."
"If that's the way you see it, then that must be the way it is." Wolf
started rocking softly, realizing
where this conversation was heading and realizing for the first time that
he was indeed reeling the
boy in. True, it was a round-about, back door entrance into his heart,
but Wolf could see it as
surely as if the boy had thrown the door wide and left a light on for him.
He smiled to himself.
Just let him talk, he'll take you where you want to go himself. Don't
scare him off.
"You only came after me to get your free help back. You said yourself
Judge Green wouldn't
make me go to Laramie now if he knew I was only seventeen." Darby
turned his head slightly so
he could see Wolf from the corner of his eye.
"Face into the corner, Darby. NOW!" Wolf issued the firm directive and
watched as Darby
quickly turned into the corner once again.
"Maybe you want to take me back to Sheriff Banks and send me off to
Laramie Prison now. I
don't care, why don't you. I don't need you. I don't need anyone."
Wolf never said a word, but he catalogued and remembered every statement
and question the
boy made. Wolf had never been much of a talker. He was always
a good listener, a man who
silently sat back and observed other men's words and actions and deducted
volumes about their
personalities. Darby was a fountain of words and the kid didn't have
one inkling as to the
information he conveyed to the silent observer. Wolf knew the boy
craved reassurance with
every utterance of "I don't care," he knew he was starving for affection
with every "I don't need
you," and he wanted the restrictions and limits Wolf set forth although
he pretended to rage
against his captivity.
"Why didn't you just let me die. Why didn't you just leave me
on that ledge---I wish you had---I
wish I was dead."
Wolf was up in a flash. He walked swiftly towards the penitent,
he saw Darby cringe upon
hearing the determination in the approach. He put his hand on the
small shoulders and spun the
boy around to face him. He held onto the shoulders and gave the boy
a slight shake.
"You listen, and you listen well. I don't ever want to hear you
talk like that again. You're a
talker, I'll give you that, but you're going to start learning to listen,
too. I admit, when I first
agreed to take you with me, I did it out of some sense of personal penance.
I thought you
deserved a second chance. You didn't seem like the tough outlaw you pretended
to be." Wolf
paused as he looked into the lost face. He gave the boy another slight
shake making sure he had
his full attention. Darby's eyes glistened with fresh, unshed tears,
but tried to focus in on the blue
ones demanding his attention.
"But it's more than that now. I hate admitting it. I'll
grant you that. I'm not used to wanting
someone around, but I've grown used to you, little mite, and I don't want
to lose you for my own
personal and selfish reasons. I care about you!" He shook him one
more time to make sure this
sunk into the rock hard head of the insecure boy.
Darby blinked several times to clear the shining dewdrops that brimmed
his eyes, they streamed
down his cheeks and Wolf pulled out a handkerchief so he could blow his
dripping nose. But
before Wolf could hand him the object, Darby threw himself against the hard
wall of chest and
buried his face in Wolf's shirt. Wolf held him. "It's okay, little
mite, we're both going to be okay."
Wolf held him close and closed his eyes. For one brief moment
he imagined it was the other,
then the other was gone and he was aware that he was holding Darby Cole.
Then he felt a flood
of warm emotions course through him and all the hatred, regret, and sadness
left him and he
realized he was glad. He was glad there were black eyes and wild golden
locks and laughter and
song and the irrepressible Darby Cole.
After several moments, and when Wolf determined that the young man had
regained some
composure, he lifted his face up. "You're not done, yet. Back
to the corner, and one other
thing, Darby, if you ever try to run away again, you're making a trip out
to that crop of trees you
love so much. You're going to cut me a four-foot switch as thick as
your little finger and then
you'll bring it back here. You'll get a serious switching from me
on your bare backside. Do you
understand that I'm serious about this?"
Darby dropped his eyes as he considered the threat and nodded his head,
knowing full well that
Wolf always carried through on his promises. Then he smiled tentatively
and added, "Yes, sir, I
know you mean what you say."
As Wolf spun him gently around to face the corner once again, he heard
the soft phrase, barely
audible, "and I'm glad." Wolf just smiled to himself and resumed his
seat on the rocker and
continued his watch.
A Few Days Later
Blair Sandburg and Darby Cole rested upon rocks under Darby's crop of
trees. Well, Blair sat,
Darby leaned across drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick he had picked
up, trying to look
nonchalant about the aversion to putting pressure on his backside.
They were discussing the
Count of Monte Cristo and other books that Blair thought Darby would enjoy.
Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg had been out enjoying the beautiful Indian
summer Sunday
afternoon and had by happenstance stopped by to say "hi" to their neighbors.
The visit was
intended to be brief, so both young men eagerly raced off to Darby's private
spot where they
could enjoy each other's company and get some short relief from the men
they spent most of
their time with. It was a pleasant break from the routine and mundane.
"DARBY! COME ON." The call came across the distance breaking
in upon their pleasant
interlude. Darby dropped the stick and stood up as if on command.
"We'd best get back," he said to the curly-headed young man who looked at him in shock.
"What happened to 'not taking orders from him,' and 'knowing how to handle him?'" Blair asked with a slight smile playing upon his lips.
"I misjudged," Darby said with a similar grin cracking his features.
Blair noticed the gingerly
fashion Darby walked trying to pull his britches away from his backside.
"I suppose you know how to handle Ellison?"
"No, I admit I don't even try, leastwise not after the first attempt.
I can't imagine ever wanting to
escape from Jim, and I don't think you really want to run away from Wolf,
either," Blair said as
both men walked slowly towards the ranch house.
"Not now, I don't, but things change," Darby said in a sorrowful voice
that resonated with age
and wisdom and loss. "But I'll tell you one thing," Darby said with
a smile springing back on his
face, the elasticity of youth ever pliant, "I'll think long and hard on
it before I try again,” with that
he rubbed his backside, and both young men laughed.
"What's so funny?" Jim Ellison asked his young friend as they joined
the older men near the
porch.
"We're just reflecting on past experiences and hard lessons," Blair
said and relayed the deeper
implications of the conversation in the secret look that speaks volumes
to friends who understand
each other.
"Oh, that reminds me, Wolf," Jim Ellison said as he put his arm around
Blair, "When were you
planning on going to town?"
"Next week, why? Will I see you there?"
"Actually, that's why we stopped by, Sheriff Banks rode over about two
days ago and said there
was a Harvest Dance planned for November 15th. Blair and I have decided
to wait until then to
make our trip. Thought you, two, might want to do the same."
Wolf looked over at his young charge and saw his eyes brighten and the
pleading expression
being sent his way.
"Well, we need to hit town earlier than that." Wolf stated, but when
he saw the eager face fall
and the sadness that immediately turned the black eyes to ebony pools, he
quickly added, "Well,
I guess another two weeks won't matter that much. I'd kind of like
to do some socializing
myself."
The smile that spread like wildfire across the fair-faced boy lit the
small group into similar
displays of joy, infectious as smiles often are. Wolf walked over
to the small figure that stood
alone and put a friendly arm around his shoulders drawing him near within
the shelter of his
protection, an unconscious gesture by a man who just learned the contentment
of a family
structure. The two guests climbed upon their horses and bid farewell,
promising to see them
soon in Happenstance and at the much-anticipated dance.
When Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg were out of earshot, Blair started laughing.
"What's so funny?" his friend asked, looking perplexed.
"I was just thinking of that Shakespeare play, 'The Taming of the Shrew.'"
"Yeah," Jim Ellison said, "what about it?"
"Remember, at the end there was a question about who really tamed who?"
Jim Ellison turned in his saddle and looked back at the tall ex-lawman
in black and the fair-haired
boy next to him. He saw the easy smiles on their faces, the relaxed stances
as they leaned into
each other and waved to him. He raised his hand in reply and straightened
in his saddle.
He gently urged his horse into a fast trot as he passed the curly-haired
young man riding ahead.
"I see what you mean," he said and both men could be heard laughing as they
rode off into the
distance.
THE END
Thank you for reading and I hope that you have been entertained.
Cajun Words compliments of: http://www.oocities.org/Tokyo/Flats/4396/language.html
Papere: Grandfather
Mon Petite: Little one
Podna: Friend/Partner
Rodee: To run the
roads/never stay home
Bebette: A little
monster; a little critter
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