Man Cub    Man Cub by Mary

  

 Notes: The mutual affection apparent between mother and son as Ben and
Caroline meet again briefly in "Call of the Wild" touches me. At the sight
of his "Mum," Ben suddenly appears to be that little six-year-old boy who
was cruelly torn from the most important person in his life. During that
moment of reunion, their expressive eyes and Caroline's loving caress to
Ben's face communicates all they need to tell each other. And they are
finally, after thirty years, able to say good-bye. 

 Disclaimer: Alliance planted the seed with some fascinating characters. 

 Drama; Rated PG 

 MAN CUB 

 By Mary 

 "Mum! Mum, somethin's wrong with Bucky!" I ran into my parents' bedroom
exclaiming with urgency. It was almost time for breakfast and was
surprised to find them still in bed. They were obviously startled by my
abrupt entrance, and Dad essentially hopped out of bed and into his robe
in one fell swoop, while Mum sat up and motioned for me to come to her. I
jumped onto the bed and straddled her lap, repeating, "Somethin's wrong
with Bucky, Mum!" 

 "What makes you think something's wrong with him, Benny?" Mum asked, her
arms wrapped around me in a comforting caress. 

 "You should knock before you enter someone's bedroom, Benton," Dad
informed me as he sat back down on the bed, but I ignored him. Dad was
hardly ever around, as his duties as a Mountie frequently kept him away
from home, so my five-year-old mind had a habit of dismissing his
authority over me. As far as I was concerned, Mum was the boss and Dad was
just someone who visited us sometimes. 

 "He's not movin' or anything and I picked him up, but he just keeps
sleepin'." 

 "Sleeping? Are you sure he's sleeping?" Dad asked. 

 "Uh huh. And I can't make him wake up." 

 Dad got off the bed and started to get dressed, and Mum lifted me off her
lap and did the same. "Don't worry, honey. We'll go take a look at him,
okay?" she told me. 

 Within minutes, the three of us were in the shed, huddled around the tiny
wolf cub where it lay, still and lifeless, in the bed we had made for it.
Bucky had only been with us for a couple of weeks. I'd found him at the
edge of the woods by our house one day while I was outside playing in the
snow. The sounds of his crying had aroused my curiosity and, when I
followed the cries, I found the cub suckling its dead mother, desperate
for nourishment. After Mum explained to me why the cub was in distress,
she helped me take him back to our house, where it was decided that we
would care for him only until he was able to fend for himself in the wild.


 Dad crouched beside the cub and examined him. "This animal starved to
death," he stated with certainty, and then he looked up at me. "What do
you know about this, Son?" 

 "Huh, Dad?" 

 "Weren't you supposed to be feeding the cub?" 

 "Yeah." 

 "Have you been?" 

 My body went numb. A newborn cub requires frequent and regular feedings
and Dad had been very specific in his instructions to me after I had
agreed to take on that responsibility for Bucky, as we had named him,
after Buck Frobisher, Dad's partner in the RCMP. My intentions had been
honorable, but my follow-through had been less than satisfactory, and I
knew it. I was too ashamed to admit to my failure, however. "Uh huh. I did
feed 'im, Dad." 

 "Just when you felt like it, or according to the schedule I gave you?"
Dad appeared angry as he stood up, which made me even more afraid of
telling him the truth. 

 Tears were falling down my cheeks, and I couldn't answer the question.
"Is Bucky dead, Dad?" 

 "Yes, he is, Son." 

 "No!" I cried and sought comfort in my mother's embrace. I sobbed
inconsolably as she held me tightly to her. 

 "Shh, shh," she whispered into my ear. "These things happen sometimes." 

 "Yes, wolf cubs die when they don't get the food they need to live. That
was your job, Ben," Dad reminded me, needlessly. "Did you do your job?" 

 "He already said he fed him, Bob," Mum tried to answer on my behalf. 

 "Let the boy speak for himself, Caroline." Dad paused to let me speak,
but I just kept sobbing. "Answer me, Benton," he finally demanded. 

 "I did, Dad," I answered without turning to face him. 

 "You did what?" 

 "I did feed Bucky." 

 "How many times?" I didn't respond, so he repeated, louder and angrily,
"How many times did you feed him?" 

 "I dunno," I sobbed. 

 "Not enough, obviously." 

 "Take it easy, Bob. He's just a little boy." 

 "He's a little boy who made a promise to that little cub. He's a little
boy who broke his promise to that little cub. He's a little boy who let
that little cub die." 

 "Robert!" 

 "Hush, Caroline. He needs to hear the truth. It's not gonna do him any
good if I stand here and tell him it wasn't his fault and everything's
gonna be okay. He was careless. He's gotta own up to that." Dad suddenly
clapped his hands together loudly, and I knew his anger was building with
each minute. "Come here, Son," he ordered. 

 I hugged Mum tighter at his words, and she rubbed my back as she spoke to
Dad. "Please calm down, Bob." 

 "I want a word with my son, Caroline. Please put him down and let him
come to me." 

 Mum set me down and pried my arms from around her. "Mind your father,
Ben," she said as she brushed her fingers across my wet face in an effort
to make me more presentable. 

 "What's Daddy gonna do, Mum?" 

 "He just wants to talk to you, honey." 

 "Is that all?" Due to my unfortunate habit of forgetting that I owed
obedience to this man who claimed to be my father, he sometimes had to
impress that fact upon me with an unmistakable show of authority to my
bottom, and I was a little worried that this was going to be one of those
occasions. 

 "Yes, that's all," Mum answered with a resolute glare in Dad's direction.
She turned me around and shoved me gently toward Dad. "Be a good boy and
go to him." 

 Once I saw the irritation on Dad's face, I couldn't look at him. So I
hung my head as I slowly made my way closer to him. I stopped walking when
his shoes appeared in my field of vision. 

 "Closer," he ordered, and I reluctantly obeyed until I stood within arm's
reach of him. "Look at me, Son." 

 I lifted my face to him and immediately my tears started to fall again. 

 "You've got no cause for tears. It's that poor, neglected cub who should
be crying. Except he can't, 'cause he's dead." 

 "Bob, please..." 

 Dad held up his hand to silence Mum. "What've you got to say for
yourself, Benton?" 

 "I dunno," I whispered through my sobs. I wanted to say the right thing,
but I couldn't imagine that anything I said could possibly mend the
situation. 

 "You messed up, didn't you, Son?" 

 I nodded and wiped my face as I struggled to stop crying. 

 "What're you gonna do about it?" Dad demanded. 

 I shrugged and looked at Dad expectantly, hoping he could tell me how to
make up for my mistake. 

 "Suppose your mother and I stopped feeding you every day. How would you
feel about that?" 

 "I didn't stop feeding Bucky, Dad," I explained haltingly, as my bottom
lip quivered. "I just forgot sometimes. I didn't mean it. I promise I
didn't." 

 "I know you didn't mean it. I know you forgot. Believe me, if I thought
you'd starved the animal on purpose, we wouldn't be having this talk. I
woulda just disowned you." 

 "Now, don't tell him that, Bob. You know you don't mean it." 

 "What's disown mean?" I asked timidly. 

 Dad sighed and relented. "Nothing. Never mind. All I'm trying to say is
it's not good enough that you didn't mean to do it. You took on a
responsibility, then failed to live up to that responsibility. You didn't
care enough to do what you promised to do." 

 "I cared about Bucky, Dad." 

 "You didn't care enough. Not enough to make whatever sacrifices were
necessary to make sure he got fed when he needed to be fed. Isn't that
right? Eh, Son?" 

 "No," I contradicted him with a stubborn shake of my head. 

 "No?" 

 "I forgot. I couldn't help it. I tried to 'member, but..." 

 "But sometimes other things were more important to you?" 

 "No, Dad! Stop saying that!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. 

 "Look here, Mister," Dad rebuked me with a quick tug on my ear. "This is
your father you're speaking to. Don't you be raising your voice to me like
that, you hear?" 

 I paused, chastened, then whined in an innocent voice, "But you think I
forgot to feed Bucky on purpose, but I didn't." 

 "You're not listening to me," he scolded. "I told you I know you forgot
and you didn't do it on purpose..." 

 "Then how come you're still yelling at me?" I interrupted him, much to
his dismay. 

 "I'm not yelling at you!" he answered irritably, then, after a glance at
Mum, took a deep breath and paused. He then bent down to me, slapped his
hands firmly on my shoulders, and looked me sternly in the eyes. "I
thought I could count on you, Son. You've disappointed me." 

 "But, Dad..." 

 He covered my mouth with his hand so that he could continue without
further interruption. "I've always relied on you to be the man of the
house when I can't be here, and now I see you can't be trusted. You can't
follow a simple set of instructions even when I am home, so how can I
count on you to be any kind of help to your mother when I'm not home?
You're not the man I'd hoped you were." Dad took his hands from me and
stepped away. 

 His words broke my heart, and I again wept openly and bitterly. Mum
crouched to me and pulled me close and I flung my arms around her neck and
buried my face in her hair. "Bob, aren't you being a little unnecessarily
harsh on Ben?" 

 "I'm just giving it to him straight. I don't believe in pussy-footin'
around the truth." 

 "But aren't we just as much to blame for this as he is? He's just a
little boy. We're his parents. We're supposed to be here for him, to guide
him. We should have paid more attention to whether he was feeding Bucky.
We neglected Ben just as much as he neglected the cub." 

 Dad sighed and started to walk away, then stopped and said, "Benton, take
the cub to the house. I don't want some wild animal sniffing him out in
here." 

 

 Back at the house, Mum made me lie on my bed and she sat beside me and
rubbed my body soothingly until I had calmed down. I was just about to
drift into sleep when I felt her kiss my forehead. 

 "Mummy, do you hate me now?" I asked. 

 "Hush now, Benny," she ordered with a quick pat to my behind. "Don't you
dare suggest such a thing, you hear me? You know I'll always love my
little Benny." 

 "But I killed Bucky. You can't love me after I did that." 

 "Did I not just tell you to stop that kind of talk?" 

 "But..." 

 "But nothing. Bucky was an accident. We know you didn't want him to die,
sweetie. We know you loved him." 

 "But Dad's mad at me, Mummy. He's real mad at me." 

 "Where's Bucky?" I suddenly heard my father ask from the doorway of my
bedroom. I immediately tensed and turned my head so I was facing away from
him. 

 Mum leaned in and spoke into my ear. "Your father's asked you a question,
honey." 

 "Can't you answer him, Mum?" 

 "I'd like you to do it, please." She didn't give me a chance to argue.
"Come on. Sit up and answer your father," she said as she pulled me up. 

 I obeyed, but only because it was Mum who'd asked me to do it. I wouldn't
have obeyed anyone else in the world at that moment. Only Mum. I trusted
Mum. I always knew I was safe as long as she was with me. "He's over
there," I said, pointing to the floor in the corner of my room. "Mum said
we could bury him." 

 "Hmm, good. He'll need a box first. Do you know how to build a box, Son?"


 "Uh-uh." 

 "There's some scrap wood in the shed. Should do well. If you want, I
could show you how." 

 "Right now?" 

 "Whenever you're ready." 

 I looked at Mum who smiled at me, and then looked back at Dad. "I guess
I'm ready now." 

 "Good, good. No time like the present, I always say." 

 

 Dad never mentioned Bucky or my part in his death as we built the box
together. In fact, I almost forgot a few times that the box was a burial
box. Dad demonstrated each step of the process and then let me try it,
always commending me on the fine job I'd done. After we'd finished it, he
put his arm around my shoulders and beamed a wide grin at me. "I couldn't
have made a finer box myself, Benton." 

 "Really, Dad?" 

 He winked and squeezed my shoulder. "Shall we take it in and, er, put
Bucky to rest?" 

 "Okay." I took the box as Dad handed it to me, but as we were about to
make our way to the house, I hesitated. "Dad?" 

 "Yeah, Son?" 

 "I'm real sorry." 

 "I know, I know." He tugged my ear gently. "So am I. Your mother's right.
We shoulda helped you." 

 "Are ya not mad at me anymore?" 

 "Do I look like I'm mad at ya?" he asked as he gave my hair a thorough
tousle. 

 "I don't think so." 

 "Well, there you are, then." 

 "Dad?" 

 "Yes?" 

 "Do ya trust me?" 

 "I don't know. You're gonna have to answer that one. You're gonna have to
show me whether I can trust you." 

 "How?" 

 "Well, for starters, if you find yourself in some kind of trouble or need
help with something, don't ignore it and hope it'll go away. Trouble
seldom goes away by itself, and the more you pretend it doesn't exist, the
worse things are gonna get. Right?" 

 "I, um, was a'scared you'd be mad if I told you I forgot to feed Bucky." 

 "What's more important? Me not being mad at you or Bucky's life?" 

 "Bucky." 

 "All right, then. Remember that next time." 

 I nodded my understanding, then said, once more, "Dad?" 

 "Hmm?" 

 "Can I hug ya?" I asked tentatively. 

 Dad shifted a little uneasily. "Hug me?" 

 "Please. I know I was naughty, but can I hug ya if I promise not to do it
again? Just a little one?" My mother always insisted upon a hug as a final
affirmation of forgiveness whenever I had done something to displease her,
or vice versa, so I felt a need for the same from Dad. 

 "All right," he agreed with a sigh. "Just a little one." He crouched to
my level and steeled himself for the embrace. I put down the box then
approached my father and attached my body to his as snugly as I could,
fitting my head into the curve of his neck. I closed my eyes when I felt
his arms wrap loosely around me. It felt as if we belonged like that. Two
halves connecting to make one. 

 It may seem odd that I had to ask permission to hug my own father, but
had I attempted to hug him without warning, it's quite possible, probable,
in fact, that he would have immediately repelled me. Not because he didn't
love me. He just wasn't comfortable with spontaneous shows of affection.
Except with Mum, of course, but that was different. He seemed to think
that exposing his feelings would be a sign of weakness, which was very
unfortunate for those of us who loved him and needed to see those deeply
guarded feelings once in a while. 

 The hug was brought to an end when Dad smacked my behind. It was loud and
stung for just a second, but, coming from Dad, there was no question that
it was anything but a sign of his love and forgiveness. I snuck a quick
kiss to the back of his neck before withdrawing and when I thanked him
silently with a smile, he winked and returned the smile. 

 

 One morning a couple weeks later I awoke to the sound of voices outside
my bedroom window. I heard a car door slam, then hopped out of bed and
hurried to the window to see my father preparing to get into the truck,
his eyes catching a glimpse of me as he did so. I yelled, "Dad!" then
turned and ran out of the house. 

 Mum was on her way to intercept me as I came scurrying into the cool, wet
dawn in my bare feet and pajamas. It was mid-spring, and the ground was
still snow-covered, but I hadn't given that a thought in my rush to reach
my father before he left. She caught up to me quickly and scooped me into
her arms. 

 "Where do you think you're going, young man?" she asked. 

 "I wanna say 'good-bye' to Daddy," I explained. 

 "Oh, I see. I thought you were trying to freeze your little feet off,"
she said sarcastically as she opened her coat and slipped me inside it
with her, paying particular attention to my exposed skin. 

 "That's silly, Mummy," I laughed. 

 "Not as silly as someone running out into the snow without his boots on,"
she chastised me gently with a tweak to my nose. 

 "I didn't have time to put my boots on. Dad woulda been gone already." 

 "You wouldn't be arguing with your mother, now, would ya, Son?" Dad
suddenly asked, good-naturedly, from where he stood beside the truck. 

 "Uh-uh, Dad. I was just 'splainin'." 

 "Ah." Dad started to walk towards us and Mum took us to meet him. 

 "'Bye, Dad," I said as soon as we were face-to-face. 

 "Good-bye, Benton. And remember, you're the man of the house while I'm
away." 

 "I 'member." 

 "You take good care of your mother for me, eh?" 

 "Uh huh. I will." 

 "Good man." He smiled at me then turned and walked toward the truck as
Mum followed him. He opened the door, then paused before getting in. "I'll
be home...as soon as I can," he told me. "I wanna be proud of you when I
get back. Okay?" 

 "Yeah, Dad," I answered softly, trying to ignore the tears in my eyes. "I
want you to be, too." 

 He smiled again, then looked at Mum. As I watched him lean in and kiss my
mother lovingly, I ached for him to leave me with a similar token of his
affection. But all I got was a quick rub of my head and a wink as he
backed away then got into the truck and drove off. 

 

 Mum insisted I take a nap that afternoon, and I acquiesced when she
offered to lie down with me on her bed. Dad usually frowned on me joining
them in their bed, but, when he wasn't home, Mum often allowed me to sleep
with her. I imagine she felt as lonely as I at those times. Although I'd
maintained that I wasn't in need of a nap, it wasn't long before the
warmth of my mother's body against mine lulled me into a deep sleep. 

 A disturbing dream disrupted my rest, and I awoke with a start. Although
I realized it had only been a dream, I couldn't get the frightful thoughts
out of my head, so I decided to wake Mum. Her body felt warmer to the
touch than usual, and I noticed that her face was beaded with
perspiration. Hoping to make her more comfortable, I pulled the blanket
from her, and then I leaned in to whisper into her ear. 

 "Mum. Mum, wake up." She failed to stir at my summons, so I put a hand on
her arm and shook it as I called to her again. "Mummy, it's me. I had a
bad dream." 

 "Benny, what's the matter?" she asked in a soft whisper as she finally
awoke, barely opening her eyes in a squint. 

 "I had a bad dream." 

 "Oh, sweetie, everything's all right now, isn't it? It was just a dream."


 "Yeah, but it scared me even when I woke up and it wouldn't stop." 

 "Has it stopped yet?" she inquired, massaging her temples. Her eyes were
closed again. 

 "No, Mummy, don't go back asleep!" I pleaded in a loud voice and rolled
over so that I was straddling her. 

 Mum's face cringed at the sound of my plea and, with one hand, she pushed
me back a little so I wasn't right in her face. "Quiet down, Ben!" she
snapped. "You don't need to yell in my ear. I'm right here." When she
opened her eyes and saw my hurt feelings, she put her arms around me and
said, "I'm sorry, honey. Come, give me a kiss, then tell me about your
dream." 

 I crawled up her body until our faces met, then I gave her a big,
heartfelt kiss on the lips as she hugged me to her. "I'm sorry I woke you
up, Mummy." My fear suddenly seemed insignificant, and I was ashamed for
having given in to it. 

 "It's okay, Benny. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just not feeling too
well." 

 "Are ya sick?" 

 "Just tired, probably." She suddenly shivered. "And cold. I haven't been
able to get warmed up all day. What happened to that blanket?" 

 I grabbed the blanket and pulled it snugly over my mother, just as she
always did for me when she put me to bed on a cold night. "You looked hot
before, Mum, so I took the covers off ya. I'm sorry." 

 Mum smiled weakly at me then lifted the blanket and motioned for me to
join her underneath it. I settled myself atop her and rested my head on
her chest, and she then covered us and embraced me tightly. "Oh, that's
much better!" she sighed. "You'll warm me up in no time." 

 Actually, it was Mum who warmed me. Her body was burning with heat. "You
don't feel cold," I told her, but she had fallen back to sleep. I decided
to let her rest and closed my eyes and enjoyed our afternoon cuddle. 

 

 I awoke to find dusk descending and Mum still sound asleep below me. I
dared not disturb her again, so I quietly and carefully climbed down from
her, then smoothed the blanket around her shoulders. I tiptoed out of the
room and out of the cabin to see to my urgent personal need. 

 Back inside the house, my stomach began to rumble and I realized it was
nearing suppertime. I grinned to myself when I had the bright idea to fix
dinner for myself and my mother. I was going to show everybody that I
could be responsible and helpful. 

 I pulled a chair over to the shelf and stood on it so that I could reach
the cupboard. I quickly found a can of soup and snatched it. *This'll be
the perfect thing to warm Mummy up,* I thought to myself. Opening the can
took some doing, but I eventually managed to work the can opener and
poured the soup into a saucepan. 

 I had never used the stove before, but had watched my mother do so on
numerous occasions. I set the saucepan on the burner, then fetched the box
of matches from the shelf. After I had lit the stove, I smiled proudly and
stood back to watch over the soup. 

 Within a short time, the soup was boiling madly, so I grabbed a pot
holder and wrapped it around the handle of the saucepan so that I could
safely lift it from the stove. Unfortunately, I did not think to turn off
the flame first. As I reached for the saucepan, the flame caught the edge
of the pot holder and began burning it before I even noticed what had
happened. It wasn't until I'd set the saucepan down that I saw the flames
engulfing the pot holder and making their way toward my hand. I panicked
and starting yelling, "Mum! Mum, come here! Hurry!" 

 Seconds later, my mother appeared in the kitchen and took quick action
upon realizing the situation. She yanked the pot holder out of my hand and
took it to the sink where she drowned the flames under a rush of water
from the faucet. She then extinguished the fire on the stove and sighed
before turning around to glare at me with a severity of which I had never
known she was capable. "Benton Fraser!" she spit out angrily. Then,
without saying another word, she snatched a wooden spoon from the shelf,
sat in a chair after grabbing me by the collar, and settled me, face down,
across her lap. 

 Every once in a while, when my behavior was threatening to become out of
control, Mum would slap the seat of my pants as a warning, but she had
never before given me what could be termed a 'proper spanking'. So, as I
suffered the briskly successive whacks, I was too stunned to cry or to
even utter a word of complaint. In fact, I think it was over before my
brain had a chance to register what was happening. All I knew for sure, as
Mum stood me back up, was that my burning backside knew exactly how the
flaming pot holder had felt. 

 "Benton Fraser, don't you ever, ever, touch the stove or the matches
again! Do you understand me?" 

 "Yes, Mum," I mumbled. I would have burst into tears, but I was frozen in
fear. For the first time in my life, I was afraid of my mother. I wanted
to tell her how sorry I was, but the rage that was apparent in her
disconcerted me. At that moment, she did not look like my mother. I didn't
know how to relate to this woman or what to expect from her, and it
paralyzed me. Normally, I would have explained that I hadn't meant any
harm and that my intentions had been good. But it wasn't until after she
had run out of the room that I felt free to do so much as wince. 

 I hadn't been sent to my room, but I started to make my way there,
nonetheless. I'd lost my appetite and didn't have the heart to find
something to occupy myself. I knew that my smarting behind would be a
constant reminder of my mother's intense anger, so I hoped that if I went
to my bed and cried myself to exhaustion, I would fall asleep and escape
from my emotional and physical pain. 

 However, as I passed my parents' bedroom, I heard the unmistakable sound
of weeping. With great curiosity, I peered in and saw my mother slumped in
her rocking chair, sobbing into her hands. I had to go to her, despite any
fear I was feeling. I could not leave her alone in such a state. 

 "Mum?" I ventured to say, touching a couple fingers to her arm. She only
wept louder. "Mum, don't cry. Please don't cry." It's a frightening thing
for a child to witness a parent sobbing uncontrollably, and my heart
started to race with a new fear as I watched my mother. 

 She lifted her face from her hands and brushed away some of the tears
before turning to look at me. "Oh, Benny..." she lamented, but didn't seem
to know what else to say. 

 "I know, Mummy. I was naughty. But I'm sorry and I promise I won't do it
again, so don't cry. Okay?" 

 "Were you naughty?" she asked, which thoroughly confused me. 

 "Uh huh. I caught the, um, thing on fire..." 

 "The pot holder?" 

 "Uh huh. The pot holder." 

 "That was probably an accident, wasn't it?" 

 "Uh huh." 

 Mum smiled and took my hand to bring me around in front of her chair.
"What were you doing with the stove, honey?" she asked as she wiped away
the last of her tears. 

 "Makin' some soup." 

 "You should have woken me up. I would have fixed your dinner." 

 "You were cold, so I was gonna give you some soup to make you warm." 

 "Oh, honey..." she started to cry all over again, "...that was very sweet
of you." She wiped her eyes with one hand and squeezed my hand with the
other. "I ruined your surprise for me, didn't I?" 

 "No you didn't, Mum," I asserted, desperate to make her feel better. I
thought for a second, then added, with a smile, "The pot holder ruined
it." 

 Mum laughed, then reached out and guided me onto her lap. Under normal
circumstances, she would have lifted me under her own strength, but she
was so exhausted on that occasion that I had to do most of the work. "Come
here, Benny. Give your dumb mother a hug, okay?" 

 I gladly threw my arms around her and we hugged each other tightly.
"You're not a dumb mother," I corrected her. "You're the best one." 

 "Oh, I don't know about that, honey. The best mother wouldn't spank her
little boy like I did, when you were only trying to do something nice for
me." 

 "It's okay, Mum. It didn't hurt...too much." 

 She rubbed my back vigorously and kissed the top of my head. "You're a
terrible liar, Ben," she joked and then tickled the back of my neck. 

 I giggled and sat up to look at her. "It doesn't hurt any more," I told
her in all sincerity. 

 Mum didn't answer that. She pulled me against her and continued to caress
my back and we cuddled in silence for a while. 

 "Mum?" 

 "Hmm?" 

 "Are you gonna tell Dad I was naughty?" 

 "Why should I do that, honey? As long as you stay away from the stove
from now on, there's nothing to tell him." 

 "I love you, Mum." 

 "I love you, too, Benny." She paused to kiss my head again. "I was angry
before, honey, but I wasn't angry at you." 

 My behind would have debated that assertion vehemently, but I gave her
the benefit of the doubt. "Who were ya angry at?" 

 "I don't know, I don't know. Remember when I told you this afternoon that
I wasn't feeling well?" 

 "Uh huh." 

 "Well, I guess that's why I'm angry. Sometimes, when you're tired or you
don't feel well, every little thing seems so much worse than it really is.
I got scared when I saw you holding that burning pot holder, and I was mad
at myself for not being there to make sure you were safe. I lost my
temper. I'm sorry, sweetie." 

 "But you didn't hafta make me safe, Mum, 'cause I'm the man of the house,
Dad says." 

 "Yes, you certainly are. Nevertheless, my little man,..." she cupped my
chin in her hand and lifted my face to hers, "...I'm the mother of the
house, and I say the matches and the stove are off-limits. If I ever find
you playing around with fire in the house again, I'll spank the daylights
out of your bottom, and I won't be sorry about it next time. Understand?" 

 "Yes, Mum," I gulped contritely. "I won't touch 'em again. I promise." 

 "Thank you kindly, sweetheart." She smiled tenderly at me, then kissed my
lips, and as I reciprocated, my stomach began to growl in renewed hunger.
"I think it's well past somebody's dinnertime. What do you say we go eat
that soup you fixed, eh?" 

 "'Kay." 

 

 Mum wouldn't eat anything that night, however. She tried. She put one
spoonful of the soup into her mouth and then almost gagged it right back
out. She kept assuring me that she was fine, that she was just overtired,
but it was plain to see that it was more than that. Her face was pale --
even more so than was usual for that time of year up north -- and,
although she continued to complain of being cold, her skin was soaked with
perspiration. I realized, as I looked at her, what had made her seem like
a stranger when she was reprimanding me earlier that night. It wasn't just
the inordinate anger consuming her that had made her unfamiliar to me; it
was also her pallid appearance. 

 "Why don't you go change into your pajamas while I clean up in here," Mum
suggested after I had finished my dinner. 

 "Can I do that?" 

 "Can you do what?" 

 "Can I clean up?" 

 "Well, sure, I suppose you may do that, if you wish." She looked very
relieved at the opportunity to postpone getting up from her chair. "Gather
some soapy, hot water into the tub..." she started to instruct me. 

 "I know how to do it," I interrupted her as I jumped to my feet and ran
to the sink to prepare the dish water. Fortunately, we did have hot
running water, so there was no need for me to heat the water on the stove.
We weren't totally deprived of modern conveniences; although, Mum was
still working on Dad about bringing the outhouse indoors. 

 "Mum, are you okay?" I asked, upon finishing the dishes and turning
around to see my mother with her head down on the table. It was so unlike
Mum to do such a thing. She was always full of energy and strength. 

 She lifted her head slowly to answer me. "Fine, honey, fine." She looked
around and saw the spotless kitchen and forced a weak smile. "Thank you
for cleaning up. Your father will be very pleased to hear what a help you
are to me." 

 I was glad to hear those words, but concern for my mother's well-being
was growing and filling me with unease. "You look funny, Mum." The circles
under her eyes were so dark it looked like she had smeared them on with
dirt. I thought she wasn't going to answer me, but then she stood up and
reached out to take my hand. 

 "Let's get to bed nice and early, and then by morning I won't be looking
funny any more." 

 

 I reached out for Mum before I even opened my eyes the next morning, but
she was not in bed beside me. I sat up and was about to crawl off the bed
when I noticed a big dark red stain on the sheet where Mum had lain. I
knew it was blood. 

 "Benny..." I heard my name spoken in a low voice from behind me and
turned to see my mother seated in the rocking chair, changing into clean
clothes. "Get dressed quickly, honey. I need you to do something for me." 

 "Mummy, what happened? Did you get hurt?" I asked, hopping out of bed and
hurrying to her side. 

 "I'll explain later. Right now, I need you to go into town and fetch the
doctor." 

 "You're bleedin' too much, Mum. I'm a'scared." 

 "Don't be afraid, honey. I'm not bleeding now. Run along and do as I
asked." 

 I was dressed in record time and, after receiving instructions from Mum,
I was on my way. I had accompanied my mother into the village many times;
however, this was the first time I'd been allowed to make the trek alone.
If the situation on that morning hadn't been so worrisome, I've no doubt I
would have been swelling with pride at my independence. 

 It wasn't far to the center of town, and I ran all the way. I had assured
my mother that I knew how to find the doctor; however, as I came to an
abrupt stop and looked around in every direction, I was suddenly taken
aback to realize my memory had failed me and I had no idea where his house
was located. My mind started to race with confusion as I glanced around at
the few people who were up and about at that early hour and pondered the
obvious question: *Who can I ask for help?* 

 My uncertainty vanished when I spied Jessop's Diner. *Miss Jessop is
Mum's best friend and will surely be able to help me.* I burst into the
diner, rushing to Mrs. Jessop's side as she filled a patron's coffee cup.
"Miss Jessop! Miss Jessop! My mum's hurt and you hafta take me to get the
doctor for her!" 

 As soon as she heard my plea, she grabbed me by the hand, made a hasty
explanation to her husband, and sped me off to Dr. Martin's, quizzing me
for more details along the way. There wasn't much I could tell her, but
when I mentioned the blood on the sheet, she shook her head sadly and
didn't ask any more questions. 

 

 I wasn't allowed in the bedroom while Dr. Martin was with Mum, so I sat
on the floor outside the door and prayed silently that everything was
going to be all right. Every now and then I'd put my ear to the door, but
all I could make out was the sound of hushed voices. Finally, I peered
through the keyhole and saw Mum lying in bed while Dr. Martin appeared to
be giving instructions to Mrs. Jessop. They started to make their way
toward the door, so I backed away and waited for them to come out of the
room. 

 "Thank you, Doctor," Mrs. Jessop said as she closed the bedroom door
behind them. "I'll stay here until Bob arrives. Would you please stop in
at the diner and let Nate know?" 

 "Of course, Betty. Now, make sure she has complete rest. She's in a very
weakened state." 

 "Is my mum okay?" I interrupted them, unable to bear not knowing any
longer. 

 Dr. Martin leaned down to me and patted my shoulder. "Your mum will be
just fine, young man, so long as you leave her alone to rest." He pulled a
sweet from his bag and smiled. "Here you go, Benton," he said, handing me
the candy. "You run along, now, and play quietly." 

 "Can I see her?" I asked, showing no interest in the sweet. 

 "She's sleeping at the moment. Leave her be for a while, and Mrs. Jessop
will let you know when you may go see her, eh?" 

 "But I won't wake her up. I promise. Can I just look at her?" 

 "Listen, son, you want your mum to get better, don't you?" he asked
patiently. 

 "Uh huh." 

 "All right, then. Mind my orders." 

 I nodded reluctantly, then watched Mrs. Jessop see him out of the house.
I couldn't believe that a quiet visit with my mother would do her any
harm, so I snuck into the bedroom and stood beside the bed, hardly daring
to breathe for fear of waking her. She still looked deathly pale, and her
hairline was wet from a combination of sweat and the cool, wet rag which
the doctor had used to wipe her brow. I picked up the rag from the bedside
table and wrung some of the excess water, but just as I was about to
caress my mum's face with the rag, it was snatched from me and placed back
into the bowl. I turned my head and received a stern glare from Mrs.
Jessop, who then grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the room. 

 "I distinctly heard the doctor tell you to stay out of your mother's
room," Mrs. Jessop scolded me gently once we were in the outer room. 

 "Sorry, Miss Jessop. I just wanted to see her. I wasn't gonna 'sturb
her." 

 "Okay, well, you've seen her. Don't go in there again until you're given
permission. Understand?" 

 "Yes, Ma'am," I mumbled, on the verge of tears. 

 "That's a good boy." She gave me a friendly hug and tried to comfort me. 

 "What happened to Mum?" I asked. 

 "She took a little sick, honey. That's all." 

 "Does she have a stomach-ache?" 

 "Yes, that's right. She has a bad stomach-ache. But it's nothing you have
to worry about. Your father's on his way home, and, until he gets here,
I'll stay to take care of you and your mother." 

 "I can take care of myself. I'm the man when Dad's not here." 

 "Well, good, then you can help me." 

 "How?" 

 "Have you had your breakfast yet?" 

 "Nope." 

 "Then scoot out to the kitchen and fix yourself a bowl of cereal while I
make sure your mother is comfortable." 

 

 I was in bed for the night by the time Dad arrived home, but I wasn't
asleep. My mind was much too full of the events of the day to sleep. As
soon as I heard Dad's voice, I jumped out of bed and cracked open my door
so I could eavesdrop. 

 "Yes, she's lost it, Bob," I heard Mrs. Jessop tell Dad. "I'm sorry." 

 "Ah, well...that's that, then." There was a moment of silence. "How is
she?" 

 "Very tired and weak, but the fever's broken." 

 "She knows, I take it?" 

 "Yes, although she's probably been too sick to give it much thought yet.
It's liable to hit her hard when it's had a chance to sink in." 

 "She's all right, though, isn't she? I mean, physically..." 

 "Yes, the doctor says she's out of danger and will recover fully. She
will need a week of strict bed rest, however." 

 "I see. Well, thank you, Betty, for everything. Caroline woulda been lost
without you." 

 Suddenly, I was the victim of a sneeze. No warning. No chance to stifle
it. It just erupted from me, exposing me in the midst of my nefarious
activity. 

 "God bless you," Dad offered as he squinted to see more clearly. 

 "Thank you," I answered through the crack in the door. 

 "That's a nasty sneeze, Son. You been out in the snow in your bare feet
again?" 

 "No." 

 "Good, good." There was a momentary pause. "What're you doing there,
Ben?" 

 "Um, nothin'." 

 "Come out here where I can see you. I feel like I'm talking to a door." 

 I opened the door slowly and took a step outside the room. Dad didn't
look angry; just tired and a little sad behind the smile that greeted me. 

 "Ah, that's better," he said. "Is there something you wanted, Son?" 

 I shrugged and glanced at Mrs. Jessop and then back at Dad. 

 Before I could think of anything to say, Mrs. Jessop spoke on my behalf.
"I expect he's anxious about his mother. He's been a very good boy all day
long, Bob. Kept very quiet so as not to disturb Caroline's rest. That's
not easy for a boy his age." 

 "No, I suppose it's not. It's been a rough day, eh, Benton?" 

 "Yes, Dad." 

 "Handled it like a man, though, did you?" 

 "I guess." 

 "I heard a rumor that you went into town all by yourself to fetch the
doctor when your mother got sick. Is that true?" 

 "Uh huh." 

 Dad flashed a wide grin at me and I smiled back in relief. As proud as
I'd been to boast about being the man of the house, it was a lonely
responsibility at times so it felt good to have Dad home. I finally
started to believe that everything was going to be all right. 

 "Dad?" 

 "Yeah?" 

 I stepped into the room, closer to my dad. "What'd Mum lose?" 

 "Er, lose?" 

 "Yeah. I, um, heard Miss Jessop tell ya that Mum lost something. What was
it?" I didn't get an immediate response, as Dad shifted uneasily. "'Cause
maybe we could get her a new one, Dad. Wouldn't that make her feel
better?" 

 "It's not that simple this time, I'm afraid." 

 "How come? Mum sometimes gets me a su'prise when I don't feel good." 

 "This is different. Trust me." 

 "But how's it diff'rent?" 

 Dad took a deep breath with his hands on his hips in frustration, then he
glanced at Mrs. Jessop and broke into what appeared to be both a laugh and
a cry of sorrow. He kept his face turned away from me, but I could see
that he was wiping his eyes. 

 I was embarrassed because I didn't understand why my question had
elicited such a confused response from my father. I also feared I had
angered him, so I hung my head in a show of contrition. Seconds later, I
felt Dad's hand grip my shoulder affectionately, and when I looked up, he
winked and said, "I'm gonna go say hello to your mother. Why don't you see
Mrs. Jessop out and then come join your mum and me and I'll see if I can't
answer your question, eh?" 

 

 My grandmother arrived the next day to stay with us during Mum's
recuperation. Since my mother wasn't in any danger, Dad insisted he could
not loaf about the house when there were criminals on the loose that
needed capturing. So, after one day at home, which was pretty much spent
at Mum's side, Dad was heading out again. I had made him promise to say
good-bye before leaving, and just before dawn that morning, I was awakened
as he sat on my bed. 

 "So long, Son." 

 "Is it time already?" I yawned. 

 "'Fraid so. You go right back to sleep, now, like you promised. Okay?" 

 "Okay, Dad. But I wish you didn't hafta go." 

 "I'll be back. Don't I always come back?" 

 "Yeah, I guess. But you don't stay much." 

 "You know why that is, don't you?" I frowned at his question, so he
repeated, "Don't you?" 

 "I know, Dad. 'Cause you hafta work," I pouted. 

 "All right, then. I can't be in two places at once, can I?" 

 I shook my head. "Mounties must be the most important people in the
world, huh, Dad? 'Cause they gotta work so much." 

 "It's a big responsibility, Son. Keeping the world safe. A lot of people
depend on me to do my job. I can't let 'em down." 

 We looked at each other silently for a moment, and I decided I'd better
change the subject before Dad lost his patience with me. He'd made it
clear that I was sharing him with the rest of the world and would just
have to get used to it. "Is Mum ever gonna have another baby?" 

 "Would you like that, Son?" Dad smirked. 

 I scrunched up my face in thought, then answered, "Mmmm, yeah, I guess
so." 

 "You wouldn't mind sharing your mother with a little brother or sister?" 

 "Nah. I'm pretty old now. I don't need my mother all the time no more." 

 Dad tousled my hair then rubbed his hand vigorously across my face,
making me laugh. However, my laughter almost turned to tears as he slipped
his fingers around to my ear and rubbed the lobe between his thumb and
forefinger. I knew he would be leaving any minute, and I wished I could
stop time so we could enjoy that moment until I was ready to let him go. 

 "You behave yourself for Grandma, now, you hear? She's come to help out.
She won't need you getting in her hair." 

 "I hafta do what Grandma says?" 

 "You have to do what Grandma says." 

 "Am I still gonna be the man of the house?" 

 "Oh, yes. I'm counting on that." 

 "You're countin' on me, Dad?" 

 "Yup." 

 "Okay, Dad." 

 I could swear I saw pride in Dad's eyes as they twinkled at me in the
semi-darkness. He spread his arms as if it took a herculean effort, then
set his jaw and said, dryly, "Come here, you. Give your old man a proper
'good-bye' so he can be on his way." No doubt, Mum had insisted he make
that gesture. She's the only person who ever could convince him to do
something so out of character. 

 I wrapped my arms around his neck and he held me close. Dad seemed almost
as sad to leave as I was to see him go. When he gently began to pull me
away from him, I kissed his cheek and he responded with a grin and a tap
to my nose. 

 "'Bye, Dad," I whispered, holding back tears. 

 "Lie down and close your eyes, Ben. The day'll be here before you know
it." 

 THE END
 maryspen@aol.com