Bitter Sweets

"May I be excused from the table, Pa?"

Ben Cartwright, patriarch of the Ponderosa Ranch, looked up at his nine year old middle son a bit of confused. "Certainly, Eric. Aren't you feeling well? You haven't eaten much of your lunch."

"Not feeling too hungry, Pa. Thanks anyway. I'm gonna go change and see about my chores," the little boy answered. Unusual for a Sunday afternoon luncheon, one of his favorite meals, as he despiritedly chugged his way up the stairs to his bedroom.

Ben's left eyebrow raised in concern as he looked at Marie and speculated, "Could our little Hoss be getting sick? Perhaps we should keep him in?"

"Non, mon cher," his lovely wife answered. "I do not believe it is his body that aches, but perhaps his heart."

"How's that?" Ben gave her a puzzled look.

"Nothing, my dear. It is just a feeling I have. I believe his discomfort began this morning at church during the sermon. We shall watch and see what develops I think. Just act as if you see nothing for the moment. Let him take the lead, if you are willing."

"All right," Ben nodded, still concerned but trusting to Marie's uncanny instincts and gifts for reading and understanding their children.

"No, my little artist," she turned to the 3 year old toddler Joseph at her side, assiduously building mountains out of his mashed potatoes. Gently taking his spoon from him to scoop a mouthful of potato and offer it for his consumption, she said, "Hop Sing wants you to eat up all your lunch, so you can grow up big and strong like your brother Adam," upon whom she flashed a heartfelt smile that he reciprocated, "and your papa."

Little Joe took the spoon to say, "I AM big and stwong aweddy!" as he shoved the potatoes in his mouth.

"Indeed you are!" Ben affirmed. "Soon you'll be helping us and busting broncs! But for the moment, mind your mother and eat your food, like we are doing... ok?"

Little Joe nodded, as his curly locks bobbed atop his head, "OK, Papa. I kin do that!"

"Good boy!" Ben smiled approvingly, as the family watched discretely while Little Hoss made his way slowly from the staircase out the front door towards the barn, where he had some light afternoon chores to get done. He had recently graduated to being permitted to clean stalls - which had already been done for the day - and feed and water the livestock in stalls and paddocks. Ben or Adam had to move or throw any whole bales of hay, straw, or alfalfa. But once they were opened, Hoss - Eric, as his father preferred to call him - could handle the flakes of fodder to feed individual animals. The gentle lad seemed to have an innate gift for animals and their care, delighting in seeing to their comfort and needs. He was feeding and watering them for the afternoon, turning some of the stabled stock out into the fenced paddock for a bit of exercise. At sundown, he would return to be sure they were stabled securely for the night in the barn.

When everyone's meal was finished, the family rose as Adam grabbed his colored pencils, some paper, and drawing tools and settled on the floor to draw at the coffee table, Marie and Little Joe headed upstairs so that he could play for a bit as she settled him down to take an afternoon nap, and Ben stepped outside to lounge on the porch smoking a quiet pipe. Thoughtfully, he watched his middle son go about his tasks in the barn, listening to him talk unashamedly to each animal as he tended or handled them. The lad had such a gentle soul, though his frame promised to turn out a very big man. Ben smiled to realize he was rearing a very caring, gentle giant. Ben couldn't make out the words Eric spoke, but his tone seemed... confused... sometimes sad, sometimes almost angry, other times questioning, as though he struggled with some decision.

Just as Ben was refilling his pipe, still enjoying the warm autumn day just beginning to show the chill fingers of the approaching winter, Eric came out from the barn, hands in pockets, looking down at the ground absently. Looking up, he saw Ben sitting there with a momentary flash of what seemed like alarm as he stopped in his tracks. But then, that seemed to resolve an idea, and he strode forward with purpose in his step.

"Pa?" Hoss addressed him, in a clear bold voice.

"Yes, son?" his father responded gently.

"Can we talk for a bit? Man to man, like?" the stocky lad took on his most mature demeanor, looking a lot like Adam when sometimes Adam wanted advice.

"Of course. Is here all right, or do you want to walk a bit?" Ben offered.

"No, sir. Here is fine," Eric answered, climbing up into another split log armchair alongside his father.

Ben just waited patiently, lighting his refilled pipe, knowing little Hoss was struggling to find the right words for what seemed to be a difficult discussion. He watched the boy casually, neither ignoring nor staring at him, trying to help as best he could.

"OK. Pa? I have a question," Eric began.

"All right. I'm all ears." Ben nodded.

"Have you ever done anything wrong?" Hoss sat back, his brows knitted with some worry.

Whatever it was Ben expected Eric to say, this wasn't it. Still, the question deserved an honest answer. "Yes, Eric. I have. Certainly."

"Really, Pa? I thought... I thought you said we was allays s'posta do right? An' we get tanned when we do wrong. But... but YOU'VE done wrong, too?"

Ben smiled. "Of course I have, Eric. Everybody has done something wrong at one time or another. But yes, we're supposed to do right. And we need to know right from wrong, doing the right, and refusing the wrong. But I had to learn that, just as everyone does. And I got tanned, too, when I did wrong as a boy... if it was on purpose. Accidents happen, of course, and if you're not doing something wrong or careless to cause the accident, then you aren't blamed for it. But everybody does, or has done, wrong things from time to time."

"What about Maman?" Eric dropped his voice, referring to Marie, his beloved stepmother.

"Yes, she too has done wrong things sometimes," Ben nodded.

"What about..." Eric thought for a moment, "Preacher Fletcher! I mean, he's the PREACHER!"

"Yes, Preacher Fletcher, too. In fact, he'd be the first to tell you, the Good Book says, 'all have sinned, and fallen short of the glory of God.' We're all God's children, and children misbehave sometimes. Everyone." Ben just paused, watching Eric absorb what seemed to be a very significant insight, and ponder it a moment.

"Hmmm," Eric mused. "But that might be ok for little stuff. But what about big stuff? Preacher was talking about the Ten Commandments, and big stuff today. I mean, there's no whole commandment about saying, 'Eat up all yer vegibles an' don' fuss about it!' So, like, when a kid does that, mebbe it's wrong, but it ain't like breakin' a whole Commandment!"

Ben held his peace as he watched Eric reason his way through his dilemma, refraining from pointing out that "Honor thy Father and Mother" are "whole commandments" that cover most of the "vegible" scenario. Nonetheless, he waited patiently for Eric to go on as he drew on his pipe, slowly.

"But, Pa?" Eric looked down.

"Yes, son?" Ben waited.

"Stealin'... Stealin' now... that's Big. That's got a whole commandment to itself. Did you... did... did you ever... steal? Has you ever stole somepin'?" Eric's voice had dropped to nearly a whisper.

"Yes, Eric. I did, as a boy," Ben confessed, seriously and quietly.

"And... an... didja get caught?" his son asked.

"No, I didn't get caught. But I 'fessed up to it later because my heart, my conscience hurt so bad." Ben said quietly.

"Did... was... was yer Pa mad?" Eric couldn't meet Ben's eyes.

"A little, son. He was mostly sad, not angry." Ben answered.

"Didja... didja get a whuppin' for it?" Eric's words were barely audible.

"Son, that's between my Pa and me. I don't think we need to discuss that right now." Ben replied.

"Well, was he ashamed of ya? Or did he forgive you?" Eric asked, as his voice grew a bit husky and moisture began to cloud his vision.

"Eric, you need to hear this really clear and believe me when I say. My Pa was NEVER ashamed of ME. He was always proud of me and proud that I was his son. Just as I am with all three of my sons. Now, sometimes my Pa could be ashamed of something wrong or foolish that I did. But that's not the same thing. He was never ashamed of anything that I wasn't ashamed of first. And he ALWAYS forgave me, often before I forgave myself. 'Cause that's just how love in families works. Do you hear me? Do you understand that?"

"Ye... yes... yessir," Eric stammered, fighting back some sniffling. "I hear ya, and I understand," he nodded as he looked up at Ben with tears glistening threatening behind his lashes. "Thanks for the talk, Pa. I gotta go walkin' a couple minutes. You still gonna be here a while?"

"Yes, boy. I'll be right here," Ben nodded. But then as little Hoss climbed down out of his seat, Ben beckoned him. Eric edged closer to his Pa, a bit anxious, as Ben picked him up, put him on his lap, and hugged the boy for all he was worth. "I love you, son. I'm proud of you always, and I forgive you out of my love for you... not because you're always perfect... but simply because you're my beloved son. Got that?" and Ben kissed him soundly on the cheek.

"Yes, Pa," Eric smiled. "I got that..."

"Good!" Ben said with authority, putting the boy down to go trotting off down the road a piece to think. "And don't you go wandering past the gate! You can do all the thinking you want here in the yard!"

"Yessir!" came the little voice, as his son meandered down the path.

Ben took the opportunity to step inside and pour a cup of hot tea for himself, intending to return to the porch and await his ever-so-likely-to-return son. He encountered Marie there doing the same thing, having just managed to maneuver Little Joe into a pair of sleep pants and shirt for an afternoon nap.

"I believe our middle son suffers from anguish, a crisis of conscience," he smiled at her gently.

"Indeed. I thought that was the problem. I saw him stiffen in horror during the sermon as Preacher Fletcher talked about the Deadly Sins leading one to Hell. I fear our boy is concerned for the state of his eternal soul and its resting place."

"Ah, well, he's off finishing the rest of his wrestling match between Light and Darkness, and I'll make sure I sort out his sense of assurance before we finish."

"What are you going to do, mon cher? He doesn't look it, but he is a very sensitive boy..." she looked at Ben with a clear but unspoken plea for clemency.

"No fear, my beloved. I am a firm believer and champion for rewarding the courageous and honest. He'll not suffer for bravery, believe me. But he's so tormented at the moment by guilt and shame, he'll know no relief until he believes he has atoned. Without a true awareness of penance, he'll have no sensation of grace," Ben smiled with one upturned brow.

"Je sais, ma chérie. But nonetheless, I trust you will temper your justice with mercy for our little lamb," she chuckled.

"Trust me, beloved. He will sit to dinner in perfect comfort," Ben assured her.

"Merci, mon cher mari," she said.

"N'en pense rien," he replied, as he took his tea and pipe back to the porch to sit, awaiting his felonious son.

Ten minutes later, Ben saw Eric marching resolutely up the road towards him. "Well, that's better!" he thought. "At least he's come to a decision and isn't in such torment."

"Pa?" the boy addressed him at the foot of the porch steps, "would you come with me a few minutes, please?"

Ben stood up, "Of course, son. Where are we going?"

"We're headed to the barn, for a 'necessary discussion'," little Hoss replied, using the coded phrase Ben used with his sons to indicate a disciplinary episode.

"Ah," Ben nodded. "Then I will leave my pipe here, because..."

"we never take anything flamma... flambinal... flamy... We never take fire into the barn, except if a grownup is carrying a lantern to put on a lamphook" the boy quoted one of the family's safety rules verbatim almost perfectly.

"That's right, Eric. And the word is 'flammable', meaning it burns easy, like kerosene, paraffin, matches, or hot coals. Well done." Ben praised.

"Thanks, Pa," little Hoss acknowledged, still clearly focused on heading to the barn with his resolve intact.

Ben followed along, curiously, still carrying his steaming mug of tea with him, pipe left behind in an ashtray. Ben walked on in to the open barn and stood just inside the doors, while Eric marched to the middle, apparently expecting Ben to follow. When he did not, Eric came over to him and took his hand, guiding his father to the hay bales where Ben typically sat as he and a youngster would have their last discussion of what had been done wrong, what rule had been broken, why the behavior was blameworthy, and what the consequence would be, before putting the boy across his knee and administering whatever penalty had been earned.

"Please sit down, Pa," and Eric found himself face to face with his father, as Ben acceded to his request, still silently letting the boy take the lead. "Thank you. Now, would you please hand me your knife."

At this, Ben straightened up a bit with surprise. "Eric, my knife is not a toy. I don't want you playing with..."

"Pa, I know that. Your knife is a 'tool not a toy', and I've used it before. I'm going to be very careful. I just need it for a moment, and then I'll bring it right back. I won't be gone but a minute and will be right back with it."

"Very well, then. DO be careful," said Ben, as he handed over the bone-handled folding multi-purpose knife that he kept honed to a razor's edge in its leather holster on his belt. Eric started to run out of the barn, when his father's raised voice cautioned him, "DON'T run carrying that knife, even closed. Go ahead a take a minute longer if you need, but you walk with that tool in your hands!"

"Yes, Pa!" he heard Eric acknowledge his order as his steps slowed to a walk.

"What in the world?" Ben wondered. Then it hit him... "Oh, my. His guilt must be truly terrible. He's cutting himself a switch!" he concluded. Eric had never been struck with a switch before. In fact, only Adam had, and that on only one occasion, when the boy was caught out hunting with his rifle without permission or authorization, at 13. Adam was only allowed to handle guns in an emergency, or under adult supervision, when and where specifically authorized. Adam had seen some deer passing through the hills near the house as he'd ridden home from school, and rather than run the risk of being told "no" by asking permission to hunt them, decided to sneak his rifle and a box of cartridges out of the house on his own. When he nearly shot one of the ranch hands out rounding up strays, Ben found his firstborn being dragged home by the collar alongside a furious foreman, who delivered the boy and his report to his father without a word of rebuke or temper. His employees knew none was necessary, and they loved the boys like their own younger brothers. They all knew full well what consequences Adam would be facing, and he didn't need to add to that.

That was the first, and thus far only, time Ben had handed a son his knife to go cut a hickory switch from the little tree in the back, and waled the lad a good solid 13 licks for adventuring in defiance of hard and fast safety rules about firearms. It had been early enough in the day that little Hoss heard the rather loud "discussion" - more a monologue than dialogue - in the barn, heard the distinctive sound of a switch making impact even with Adam's fully clothed backside, heard how long it took him to stop crying and calm down in Papa's arms, watched him stand for supper as Pa wouldn't let him skip the meal, but understood that he couldn't possibly sit, and saw the stripes on his bottom and back of his legs as he changed into a nightshirt when sent to bed immediately after supper... baring his fundament to the cool air of his bedroom, without the irritation of even his nightshirt or bedsheet protecting his modesty as he tried to read lying on his bed on his tummy. Pa had even driven him to and from school for the rest of the week using cushions on the buckboard so Adam didn't have to try to ride.

Ben knew Eric had seen all this, and he'd considered it a healthy caution for both his sons. It was therefore disturbing to find Eric having judged himself worthy of such a harsh punishment. Ben waited, trying to be patient, saying a short prayer that Eric would be as careful with that knife as he'd promised. A minute later, and little Hoss entered the barn handing Ben his knife back, properly closed. Ben briefly opened and examined the knife, assuring himself that there was no debris clinging to the blade or folded into the handle, then replacing it in its holster.

Eric then handed Ben the switch, a healthy flexible rod, about 30 inches long, properly stripped of leaves, but still retaining its bark. Ben took the teachable moment to address Eric. "Son? This has been well selected. It's a straight run, without buds or joints that could make welts or wales. You've stripped the leaves aright, but if I'd asked you to cut a switch, you'd want to peel off the bark as well, like this..." Ben demonstrated, using his thumbnail to start the tear, then gently splitting the barkskin layer off the moist inner wood of the limb. He was left with an utterly smooth, almost slick, rod of wood so thin and flexible Ben could bend it double without fracture or split.

"So THAT's a proper switch, Pa?"

"Yes, Eric. It is," Ben nodded, putting it down on the hay bale alongside him.

"OK, thanks, Pa." little Hoss said, sliding his suspenders off his shoulders, pulling his britches to his knees, and dropping the seat to his long johns, exposing his little backside to the elements as he stood in front of his father. "Pa? I did somepin' really bad, and I need a switchin'. I'm really sorry, Pa, and I'll never do it again. I'm sorry." So saying he bent himself across his father's lap, and reached over handing Ben the switch. "I'm ready, Pa."

Ben had just sat still, to see exactly what Eric had in mind here. Seeing how far the boy was willing to go, Ben was just amazed, and closed his eyes a moment, combining prayer, ponder, and memory as he decided how to proceed. A moment later, he smiled with a clear plan for how to resolve his little boy's broken heart.

"You're ready, are you?" Ben inquired.

"Yes, sir." Eric's little eyes were squeezed tight shut, as were his fists, waiting for his doom to descend.

"Little man? Who is the Papa here?"

"Huh?" Eric's eyes opened, as he turned about to stare at his father. "Well, you are, Pa."

"So... who is supposed to decide if you need a switchin' or not, you? or me?" Ben used his quiet, but stern, voice.

"Well..." Eric hesitated, "you are, Pa. I guess..."

"Good. Because I think we've gotten the cart a bit ahead of our horse." So saying, Ben gently lifted Eric off his lap to stand before him. Thoughtfully, Ben buttoned up the boy's drop drawer long johns and pulled his britches back up. "First off, while this is a fine switch, Eric, I didn't tell you to go cut it. This is a serious and terrible weapon to take a whuppin' with. One you are far too young and small to bear. I wouldn't use a switch on any son unless they were at least as big as Adam was when he took his switching. And THAT only happened because he selfishly broke a number of our most important safety rules about guns, and could have killed himself or someone else, sneaking around. He almost shot one of our ranch hands, and he too was consumed with terror and guilt about it. I gave him stripes not only that he remember never to even think about doing such a thing again, but also so he could regain his self respect as he was nearly paralyzed realizing he could have accidentally killed a friend.

"Now. I don't believe you are in anything even remotely like so serious a situation. As you point out, I am Pa, I am in charge and you are not. So... I have a simple question to which I want a simple, straightforward, honest answer. You've said you're ready, so here you go.

"Eric Haas Cartwright, what is the bad thing you've done that you think entitles you to a switching?" So saying, Ben gently put the switch down beside him on the hay bale, folded his arms across his chest, and patiently waited for his son's response.

Eric stood there looking at him for long moments, then put his hands in his pockets, then looked down into the dirt floor of the barn, and started shuffling random bits of hay back and forth in the dirt with his toes, saying nothing.

"Young man, I expect an answer, and I want you to look at me as you speak," Ben said, with a stern, yet quietly gentle voice.

"But I CAIN'T tell you, Pa!" and tears began to leak from his eyes. "You'd be so ashamed of me. You'll be so mad at me. I... I broke a commandment of its very own! God must be so mad at me! You might not love me any more."

Ben hesitated a moment before reaching down to set Eric gently on his lap and rock him like he often did Little Joe. He sat the boy straddling his knee, with his back on Ben's torso and his head crooked in his shoulder. Little Hoss was thus thoroughly secure and cuddled, though he didn't have to face his Pa.

"Little boy, my blessed little son, I may be angry at what you've done wrong. Perhaps you've done something shameful. That's true. But I am not, and never will be, ashamed of the fine young man sitting in my lap. Obviously you know right from wrong, and you've done something wrong. We're here because you're sorry for what you've done and you're trying to set it right. That makes me very proud of you, not ashamed. I forgive you, here and now. God forgives you, as soon as you're truly sorry for what you did. You are, aren't you? Sorry for whatever it is you've done?"

"Oh, yeah Pa... so sorry!" and little Hoss sniffled a bit in the sincerity of his remorse.

"Well then, all that is settled and there's only a couple more things to deal with. For one thing, I assure you, I can never just punish you for wrongdoing, without knowing what you've done wrong. That would be pretty silly, wouldn't it? So... that's a non starter, my boy. Bringing us back to my question... Eric, what did you do wrong?"

In the comfort of his father's arms, feeling him breathing behind him, Eric took a deep breath and blurted out... "Pa, I stole somepin'. I's a thief! And a thief cain't go to heaven, the Preacher said so. No one who... does a bunch of stuff I don't remember except that stealin' was one of em... can enter into the Kingdom of Heaven.* So... so..." here Eric began to sniffle again... "I might be headed to Hell!"

"All right, let's sort that out right now. Eric, that may be true for people who do really bad things over and over again, never feeling sorry for them, never making anything right afterwards, and never telling anyone what they did or apologizing to God for doing them. They don't repent or intend to do better, they don't confess or admit what they did, they're not contrite or remorseful intending to make good on what harm they cause. But that's not you, my son. That's not who you are or what you've done. So, by no means are you headed to Hell, when you respond so quickly and readily to the Holy Spirit prompting you to make things right again. Do you understand?" Ben turned the boy enough to look deeply into his eyes.

"Your conscience, your heart," Ben continued, "is wonderfully attuned and responsive to the Holy Spirit. That's what's making you feel sorry, and prompting you to confess what you did wrong. It's being as good as you are, as assuredly heaven bound as you are, that has led you to bring me out here to the Barn. Now, do you believe me and understand that?"

"Yes, Pa," Eric sniffled and washed his face with his hands in a mighty snuffle, beginning to smile.

"Good boy. Now, tell me all about this theft. What did you steal, when, why, and how?" Ben let him go back to facing front, since that made it easier for him to talk.

"Candy, Pa. Remember when we stopped by the Mercantile on the way home from school Friday? Well, I didn't know we was gonna be there, so I didn't have any of my 'llowance with me, and I wanted to get a peppermint stick to give to Mary Lou Finster. She's a little girl in my grade that I kinda'... well, I wanted to get her a peppermint stick 'cause she done told me she likes peppermint sticks. But I didn't have my money then, so I figgered I'd just get the candy and then pay Mr. Perkins back on Monday after school or whenever we went to the store next... So I sneaked it into my pocket and, we left." Eric's voice had trailed away at the end there, as if his locomotive had run out of steam.

Ben was glad Eric was looking away as Eric's disclosure about Mary Lou Finster forced a smile to his lips. "Candy and flowers," Ben thought to himself. "Well, he's too young to think of jewelry yet..." It now seemed as if it was his turn to speak as Eric waited politely. "Well," he thought, "time to get on with the teaching now..."

"All right, young man," he began, in his serious voice, gently lifting Eric off his lap to stand before him, placing his hands calmly on his knees. "I believe we have come to an understanding here. I am Papa, and I am in charge. You are my beloved, forgiven, son who has done a very bad thing... true... but for which you are very sorry, have taken responsibility, and are willing to be held accountable. Have I got all that right, so far?"

"Yes, sir," Eric mumbled, looking back down at his toes.

"No, sir. We're here talking man to man now, so you look at me and speak clearly when we speak, all right?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry," Eric said clearly as he stood up straight, took his hands out of his pockets, and looked straight at his Pa.

"Now, as to this switch," Ben said, picking it up again. "Have you earned a whuppin'?"

Ben could see the little boy's breath quicken as he squirmed a bit before answering, "Yes, sir," with only a slight tremor in his voice.

"Well son, take that switch a moment and use it to hit the side of your leg just a bit, to know what that would feel like."

Next he knew, little Hoss raised the rod high over his head to slash down with a full force blow...

"Whoa, whoa, whoa there, young'n!" Ben interrupted him, grabbing his arm gently to arrest his motion before he could strike. "That lick could have bruised you all the way down your leg. Here..." he said, bringing his hand to his side, and letting his wrist only control the rod, to swat his lower leg a time or two.

"OW!" little Hoss cried out, when a little swing of about 12 inches arc stung his lower leg. "That HURTS, Pa! Feels like I been stuck by a buncha thistles in my leg!"

"There you go, son. That's why I say, you're way too young and small to be switched yet. A switch is for a big boy whuppin', and you're not quite there yet. So, let's not worry about this, shall we?" So saying, he held his hand out as Eric gratefully put the implement in his father's hand, lifting his leg to rub a bit on the stingy spots where he'd swatted himself.

"Now," Ben continued, "did you give the candy to Mary Lou?"

"Yeah, Pa," Eric smiled as he nodded excitedly. "I gave it to her after Sunday School this mornin' at church. She put it in her little string purse. I think she liked it fine."

"All right," Ben resisted smiling at his son's delight. "Then giving it back is not an option. So, what do you think we should do about this theft to make things right?"

"Well, I could get a whuppin'" Eric was a little one-track minded at the moment.

"Yes, and we'll deal with that last. But before we get to that, what does your conscience, your heart, say we should do to make things right again about you stealing that candy?" Ben wanted to keep them focused on the point.

"Well, I guess I could tell Mr. Perkins what I done, and 'pologize for it."

Ben nodded. "Good. That's a fine idea, and I agree."

"An' of course, I need to pay for it! I've got the money in my special saving sock. I could take the pennies in with me to school tomorra'"

"OK, that sounds good, too. But it's not like you'd arranged a credit account with the store, Eric. You weren't authorized to take the candy then pay later. Paying for it is a good thing, yes. But it's not enough. You've STOLEN from Mr. Perkins, and you owe him something more than just the words of an apology to show that you're sorry. I think maybe, doing some extra work for him? Like a half hour after school every day this week, just sweeping or straightening, or mopping up or something? Something that says, 'I'm sorry', with your actions, not just your words?"

"Gee, Pa. I don't even want to walk into the Mercantile. I'm ashamed a what I done. I don't even want Mr. Perkins to look at me. I didn't know it was such a bad thing til we went to church this mornin'."

"I understand that, son. That's one reason I want you to work this off. You do these chores for Mr. Perkins, and you'll regain your self-respect and his. He was once a little boy too, and he'll appreciate your 'fessing up like a man, and taking your medicine."

"OK, Pa. That sounds fair."

"OK, son. Now there's just one other thing. Did you know that stealing is against the LAW?"

"REALLY, Pa!" Eric's face began to take on a look of panic. "You think they might send a posse out here for me? Or I might get 'rested? Or hangered?"

"No, son. I don't think any of those things will happen. But I think perhaps we should stop by Sheriff Coffee's office tomorrow and have a little talk with him. You may have a fine to pay, or some extra chores you need to do to get right with the law."

"Uncle Roy's gonna be so disappointed in me!" little Hoss' voice took on a heartbroken tone.

"I don't think so, son. I think he'll feel like I do... very proud of you, willing to 'fess up when you've done wrong, and take responsibility for it like a man."

"You mean that, Pa? You're really proud of me?" Eric's eyes glowed with hope and the near attainment of his self-respect again.

"I do, son. Have I EVER lied to you before?"

"No, sir."

"And I never will. I'm very proud. Now, I think we've settled everything. Only one last detail between us. Is there anything else you'd like to say, any defense you have, or anything I should know, before you're punished?"

"No, sir," Eric sadly shook his head, as he started to take down his britches.

"Leave your britches up, son. You sought me out and admitted all of this voluntarily, when I'd not have known otherwise. You are already repentant, contrite, and remorseful. You don't need a lot of paddling to remember this lesson. So just come over here, son, and we'll get this over with."

"Pa? You just planning to spank me with your hand?"

"Yes, why?"

"Cause..." his voice hesitated, "'cause what I did was really bad, Pa. It was a whole commandment of its own, not just like a 'disobedience' or a baby thing. I deserve more than a 'little boy' hand spankin'. That's why I cut the switch," and again, his voice just trailed off.

"I see..." Ben suppressed a smile at his son's rigid sense of justice. He couldn't fault him much, however. The boy had learned to think of such things the same way his family did over all. "Well, that's a bit of a conundrum, isn't it?"

"A cone nun who, Pa?"

"Conundrum, son. Like a puzzle that's hard to figure out. Tell you what. So far you've only been spanked with my hand, right? Pants on most of the time, sometimes sleep pants or nightshirt, or... if it was something more serious... maybe on the bare, right?"

Eric just nodded, finding this a difficult topic for conversation.

"Tell you what, you know Adam takes more of a 'big boy' hiding, sometimes taking his licking with my belt, right?"

Eric gulped, "Yes, Pa."

"Well, Eric, I'll leave the choice to you then. I will NOT wale you with the Switch. That would be too severe. But if you feel too grown up, or as if this was too serious an infraction for you to just take a spanking with my hand, you may choose to take a belt whupping if you prefer. You'll wear your pants and longjohns up, and I'll put you across my knee, that makes a lighter hiding than if you bend over a bale, but you may take your licks with my belt if that's what you feel is fair. So, it's up to you. What do you choose?"

Consistent with children everywhere and everywhen, Eric could not quite bring himself to say, "Please, Pa, thrash me with your belt." Instead, he remained utterly silent as his eyes began to mist just a bit, and ever so slowly he just pointed... to his Pa's belt.

"All right, then little man. Time for your first 'big boy' tanning." Ben stood up to unbuckle his broad leather belt, and free it through his trousers' belt loops. Eric felt his legs turn cold as he watched his Pa pull it free, seeing how long and thick it was as Pa doubled it over. Ben sat down again, and made room for Eric to approach and climb across his lap, backside jutting up over his right knee, as the boy held on to his left leg for dear life. What Eric did not see, was his father wrap all the folded leather but for a single layer of the tail end around his fist, so that the length of the 'business end' of the belt was enough to reach all the way across little Hoss' seat. This way, each swat would strike with only one layer, not two, and the very end, where the speed and force was greatest, would not strike Eric at all, but rather Ben's leg or knee, beyond the boy's backside. Thus, Ben could feel exactly what Eric was feeling, or actually, he would know that Eric was taking less than the sting Ben was taking.

"You ready, son?" Ben asked, still in his gentle but stern voice.

"Yes, sir," the boy answered, bravely.

"THWAP!" the leather came down with a frightening sound, as the lash struck Ben's knee with its piercing sting. Eric drew a sharp breath, never having felt a belt before. Ben waited for a few slow counts, then, "THWAP!" the belt struck again, causing a wiggle of discomfort as Eric started to cry. Ben's sting was significant, but not unbearable, though of course he gave no sign. Ben shifted his aim, from the middle of little Hoss' backside, a bit further down towards his sit spots. "THWAP!" a little bit harder swat, as Eric began seriously to squirm, and an "OW!" escaped his lips, and the flesh around Ben's right knee was beginning to take on a distinctly pinkish hue, starting to burn where the three swats had overlapped. Again, Ben focused on the sit spots. "THWAP! a little bit harder, but still nowhere near the force to bruise or mark, just enough to build a little fire. The youngster now gave a bit louder, "OW, Pa!" as he began to sob, and Ben knew his knee told them he was about finished. Gently, Ben said, "Last lick, Eric..." as his son nodded through his tears. "THWAP!" came the last swat, firmly laid across both seat cheeks, as little Hoss relaxed across his father's legs and just sobbed until his tears ran dry, and the hiccups started.

Ben had laid the belt down beside him on the hay bale, as he rubbed slow circles at the base of Eric's back. "It's all over, little man. You've been very brave and I'm very VERY proud of you. Now... THAT was a big boy whuppin'. Aren't you glad we didn't use that Switch?" Ben asked, with a bit of a chuckle.

"Uh huh," Eric answered, slowly standing up, and reaching out to hug his Pa. "I'm sorry Pa. I'm so sorry I was bad. I don' want people to think I'm a thief, or go to jail, or nuffin' like that!"

"I know, little man. All is forgiven. Clean slate, now. You weren't bad, but you did a bad thing. And you were sorry for it, and fessed up to it, and tomorrow we'll finish making things right. All that makes me very proud. How's your bottom?"

"It hurts, Pa. That REALLY stings... LOTS!" he affirmed, sparing one hand from his hugging to rub his sore backside.

"Well, you took it like a big boy, so why don't we go inside now, and we can play some checkers until dinner's ready. You've had quite an adventure for one day. We'll take care of the rest of things tomorrow, and I'll use the buckboard so you won't have to ride to school and back tomorrow. Your bottom should be fine by Tuesday, but if you don't want to ride, I'll take you then, too. And hey! Guess what?" Ben said, with a strong pat on the back to his son, and a tone of congratulations in his voice.

"What!?" Little Hoss answered, as his hiccups had worn down to mild hesitations now and again.

"You can tell Adam you're getting all grown up now, and you just took your first 'big boy hiding' with a belt! I bet he'll be impressed. You're younger'n he was when he took his first.

"Really, Pa?" his eyes danced with delight, as Adam so enjoyed his role as "older brother" lording it over Eric.

"Really! Adam just got hand spanked until he was about 11. Of course, he was never as brave about it as you are. He never volunteered to cut a switch, or asked for a belt whuppin' instead of just a spanking. You're very brave, son, and very determined to do right. That makes me very proud."

"Honest?"

"Am I ever dishonest with you?"

"No, Pa."

"Then you can believe it. And as for THIS," Ben said, lifting Eric's switch off the hay bale and thinking for a moment. "I know what to do," and he went into the Tack Room to get out a leather thong about a foot long, wound it into a handle on the thick end of the switch and tied a loop in the end. He then got a hammer and nail, pounded a nail into the wall about four feet off the ground where he kept all his tools hung on the wall, and hung the Switch right there on the wall by his tools.

"I'll make you a deal, son. I know how hard it was for you to tell me you'd done something wrong when you're ashamed and afraid of my anger, my shame, and punishment to boot. At the same time, it warms my heart no end, even if you've done something wrong, to know you trust me enough to tell me, and come clean when you feel bad about something wrong. The next time it happens - and, it probably will, it happens to all of us sometimes - but anytime you find yourself in that predicament, you come get me asking for a man to man talk, like you did today... and then get this Switch and hand it to me. It's not likely I'll use it on you, but it will be our special way for you to tell me something's wrong, and we need to make it right together out here. I'm far more likely to be calmed and pleased by your honesty and courage, than angered or disappointed by whatever you've done. How would that be, little man?"

"That would be great, Pa. That would have made this whole thing so much easier!" Eric said, speaking smoothly now, even as he walked along rubbing his backside with both hands, as Ben threaded his belt back through his loops and secured the buckle again.

"Well, we needed to go through this the hard way the first time. But now, we have a system. And Eric?"

"Yes, Pa?"

"Would you try not to squirm too much when we eat dinner? I promised yer Maman, and if she sees you squirming or uncomfortable at supper, she'll probably hide me with a wooden spoon. You should be fine by then, anyhow."

"Really, Pa? Hmmm..." and Eric's face took on a mischievous look.

"What is it, son?"

"Oh, I'm just wondering what it'd be worth to you not to get hided by Maman's wooden spoon?"

"Oh really! I'll show you, you little scamp!" and Ben playfully started to take off after little Hoss, while the boy just giggled uproariously breaking at a dead run for the front door into the house!

* Eric was thinking of 1 Corinthians 6:9-11

A/N: I realize this is a million miles away from my typical writing, but I always loved Bonanza and the Cartwrights and have really enjoyed the fanfiction here about them. Authors Gaben and Truman's Shell do great stories with some OC's they've introduced, and this little plot bunny struck me a few days ago and wouldn't leave me be. So, just a drabble I hope you enjoy, and feel free to review or critique. Happy New Year and Grace to all, Gentle Reader - Mort