Too Good to Be True

It was 2:45 on Friday afternoon, as Little Joe squirmed on the bench seat of his classroom desk. He didn't have any good reason to be squirming... yet. But he knew, as sure as the sun would rise tomorrow, that he'd be squirming a lot pretty soon, whether at his desk, on his horse, or sitting down for supper. It all just didn't seem fair. And Pa wasn't even home, but off in Carson City for the Annual Cattlemen's Association conference. He'd been gone all week, and wasn't expected back until Sunday.

Adam was in San Francisco, negotiating on some lumber contracts for the railroads, and Hoss was in charge as far as Little Joe was concerned. Generally speaking, that was a good thing. Hoss was so easy going that as long as he got his chores done, didn't sass back or argue about his bedtime or doing his homework, and didn't break any major rules or get a note home from school, Hoss gave the 11 year old his head and he had a lot more freedom than normal. Even if he did forget himself and backtalk, Hoss was a lot more likely to just set his nose in the corner for half an hour than swat him. Joe suspected he was afraid of his own strength if Joe ever earned a spanking. But this time... well, he wasn't sure how this was going to work out at all.

It had all seemed so simple at first. Miss Jones was following a recommended curriculum that required students in Little Joe's grade and upwards to write reports, essays, and book reports. Little Joe hated writing reports. He didn't mind the reading so much, especially that fellow Clements, or Poe, and some of the Nathanial Hawthorne stories were rippers. But he hated having to write about any of it. And writing stuff about history was just a torture to him. When he hadn't found too much to use on the bookshelves around the house, he'd asked Adam if he had anything helpful. Adam thought a bit, then said he had a trunk out in the storage shed that may have some of his old schoolbooks in it. Maybe Joe would find something in there.

So one day a couple months ago, Little Joe finished his chores, went out to the old shed, and found the trunk stored up in the rafters. He got it down, opened it up, and felt like an explorer who'd just found a pirate's treasure hoard. Not only had Adam stored up books from all through his later school years, but... since he was such an all fired scholar bound for college... he'd actually LIKED writing reports and essays, comparisons and contrasts, and critical reviews and such. In fact, he had notebooks, copybooks, FILLED with his drafts, outlines, thinking about dozens of different things. Joe just sat there, dumbstruck, leafing through page after page of stuff he wouldn't have written if you held a fire to his feet, that Adam just seemed to delight in speculating about. No miser so greedily hoarded gold and jewels, as Joe carried those books and journals up to his room, settling them into his own bookshelf and desk. He knew he'd struck the motherlode, the El Dorado of school treasure, and he'd never have to sweat any of these assignments ever again.

For weeks he had turned in these works, carefully edited down to take out all the big words Adam knew, but Joe didn't. He never bothered to read through the actual works being discussed, but sorta skimmed through them a bit so he'd look like he knew them if Miss Jones ever asked him anything. The improvement in his English, Composition, Spelling, and Grammar marks was dramatic and pleased Pa no end. Of course, he said nothing about his new found academic wealth, but just basked in the praise he received for having turned over a new leaf and now studying so hard.

But then, somehow, it all seemed to go hideously wrong. Last week he'd turned in all his assignments, gotten good grades on them and everything seemed fine. Except, Miss Jones asked him a couple questions about the material on his reports, and he'd thought he'd handled it pretty well. But then Monday, when they all started studying Civics and Social Studies, Miss Jones said they were going to consider the topic of "Corruption and Cheating" for this week. Each grade level got its own topic to study and write about. Younger grades had stuff like "Copying", "Crib Notes", "Passing Notes and Talking", about cheating on tests. The big grades had some things on "Gerrymandering", "Ballot Box Stuffing", and "Bribery" about government. His grade, the 6th grade form, had "Plagiarism" as a topic. He'd had to go look up the term and write down the definition, then do a 500 word essay on it to turn in on Wednesday. He found this a most uncomfortable assignment.

After Miss Jones collected all the essays Wednesday, there had been a lively class discussion about cheating in general. How it was a form of both lying and stealing at the same time. Cheating made a false statement about what you knew or what work you had done, or - in government - what people thought or wanted. At the same time, cheating stole time and work of one person, giving credit to someone else who didn't do the work. Miss Jones asked the class if they liked being lied to, or having someone steal something from them. Of course, no one did. Then she asked how any of them felt if or when they were called a liar, a thief, or a cheat. This roused the masses with mighty indignation. Nobody wanted to be labelled that way. She then pointed out that, especially in places like theirs, the Nevada Territory, still being settled, where neighbors had to be able to rely one one another just to survive... a person's word, their good name and integrity, was worth its weight in gold. When someone's handshake was a promise as solid as a signature at law... folks could count on one another when times were hard. This was critically important for a place like Virginia City, and she was proud to say that all her neighbors were honorable people of integrity, and she was certain all her students were, too.

Little Joe had a serious problem by the end of school Wednesday. He was starting to feel he may have made an error of judgment. He'd always known what he was doing was wrong... else he wouldn't have hidden it so carefully. But he hadn't really thought any of this through. It just seemed "fortuitous", to use one of Adam's big words. Like a windfall of fruit or firewood after a storm. He hadn't figgered it made him a liar, or a thief, or even a cheat. Card sharps and cheats got shot. He didn't want to be one of them.

But what could he do? He couldn't even count how many of Adam's pieces he'd turned in and gotten credit for. And he knew the penalty in school for cheating, and it was harsh. If you got caught cheating on a test, you took a Zero for the grade, you got kept after school writing lines, you took swats with Miss Jones' wicked school paddle, and a note got sent home telling what you did. For almost all of his schoolmates, that meant getting another thrashing from your pa when you got home. Oh, and then you had to redo the work on your own. Yup, by the end of school Wednesday, Little Joe felt downright sick.

Joe had wanted to talk this through with somebody, but Pa was out of town as was Adam, and he didn't feel like Hoss could be much help. Besides, he couldn't tell Hoss, or he might think he had to tell Pa. No, he needed to talk to someone else. He'd always found the town preacher, Pastor Fletcher, easy to talk to. Billy Fletcher, the preacher's son, was about his best friend in town. Together, they'd gotten in a lot of mischief now and again. The Fletchers were kind, hard working, and a lot like Pa and Marie - Little Joe's ma. Of course Joe's ma had died in a riding accident years before, but she always seemed to know what to do or say to make things better when he was upset or hurt. Mrs. Fletcher was a lot like that, too, always ready to listen with a cookie or glass of milk, if Joe needed to talk to someone or if he was looking for Pastor Fletcher and he wasn't around.

So that Wednesday, after school, Little Joe caught up with Billy and asked, "Is your pa at home this afternoon?"

"Yeah, he should be home, or he will be pretty soon. He was going up to the Spencer's ranch to tend their horses this morning. They'd thrown some shoes and needed their hooves trimmed, but that shouldn't have taken him too long. Their remuda isn't that big," Billy answered.

Mr. Fletcher was a farrier, a kind of blacksmith that worked on horseshoes and their hooves more than just making things from iron. The town had a Blacksmith that could do all kinds of things: fabricating equipment, repairing things, making hoops for wheels or barrels, toolmaking, hinges, nails, lots of stuff... even horseshoes. But Mr. Fletcher worked with him, and was an expert on horses and how they moved, so's if a horse needed a special shoe built up on one side because of an injury or something, he knew just what to do and how to tend all sorts of leg and hoof ailments.

"What's up, Joe? Why do you need my dad?" Billy asked, not unkindly.

"Oh, nothin' really. I just wanted to know what he'd think about something. I just want to talk a bit. Nothing important," Joe answered, with a fretful look.

Billy knew the look, and the feeling, well. His dad was really nice and easy to talk to, especially if something was bothering you. Billy and Joe had a kind of unspoken agreement. Billy found Mr. Cartwright just as easy to talk to as Joe found his dad. Sometimes, a guy just needed to talk things out with a grownup they didn't live with. Like having an uncle nearby. So, when something was bothering Joe, he'd often take some time to walk and talk with Mr. Fletcher. The same thing went for Billy and Mr. Cartwright. The boys didn't tease one another, or make any big deal out of this. It just seemed to make growing up a little easier for them. So Billy said nothing more about it, as Joe rode Cochise alongside Billy as they headed towards the Fletcher's house, alongside the church.

"Well, I better be seeing about my chores, Joe. Catch you later. Looks like Dad is home, I see his wagon in the barn," Billy pointed to the farrier's equipment wagon his dad used when he went out on a call.

A moment later, Pastor Fletcher walked out from the barn into the sunlight, mopping sweat from his brow with a big red handkerchief. He was wearing his denim overalls on a union suit unbuttoned halfway down his chest. You could tell the man had been hard at work, probably at his forge before the boy's arrived.

A broad smile greeted them as Mr. Fletcher said, "Ah, welcome home Billy, and hey there Joseph. Good to see you. I was just about to take a little break. Care to share some lemonade with me? I think Mrs. Fletcher may have just made some cookies... I been smelling them all afternoon."

"Thanks, Dad," Billy said, shaking his head with a smile. "I think I'm gonna take care of my chores first, but I bet Joe would be glad to join you for a bit." Billy exchanged a knowing glance with his father, clearing the way for him and Joe to have some private time. Mr. Fletcher understood, tousled his firstborn's hair with a laugh, and patted him on the shoulder in thanks for making his job so much easier with his understanding.

"Right, then, Joe. What say we go sit down a spell?" as he indicated a table and some chairs on the side of their porch. "I'll be right back," he said, heading over to a washstand to clean his hands and face.

Hearing the voices and her husband's boots on the porch, Mrs. Fletcher came out the screen door from the house, bearing a pitcher filled with cool lemonade, and a tray with some glasses and a big platter of three different kinds of cookie.

"Howdy, Joseph. Good to see you," she smiled, with that gift she had of always making a visitor feel welcome. Every now and again, seeing her smile or feeling her hug him from time to time, his heart twinged with an instant of grief for his ma. But he knew, sure as he's stood up from his seat when this lady came outside, he knew his maman was in heaven and happy. Maybe that's one reason he liked the Fletcher's so much. They talked about heaven like it was just over in the next county, and seemed totally comfortable with stuff about God and the Bible that just seemed to frighten ordinary folk. They helped Joe feel much better about his ma, and that he was sure to see her again. "There you go, gentlemen," she said, putting everything down on the table for them. I'm a bit busy getting supper ready, so I'll just leave you men to talk, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. Thank you, ma'am," Joe said, as Mr. Fletcher walked over and gave his wife the briefest kiss on the cheek as she headed in the door. Both Joe and Mr. Fletcher sat down as the man poured lemonade for the both of them.

Quietly sliding the beverage and platter of cookies over towards Joe, Mr. Fletcher took out his pipe, tamped it down a bit, and lit it. He leaned back in his chair for a moment or two and just took a deep breath looking up at the sky, a picture of utter content.

"So, Joseph, what's brought you by today?" Mr. Fletcher smiled.

"Well, there's something bothering me. I'd like to talk about it, but... Well, sir, can you keep a secret?" Joe asked, with a worried tone.

"I certainly CAN, Joe. Pastors do that a lot, but it depends. Have you killed anybody?"

"No, sir. Of course not!" Joe answered.

"Have you hurt anybody, or do you intend to hurt or kill anybody?"

"No, sir," Joe shook his head.

"Then I can keep your secret. Spill it," Mr. Fletcher smiled as he took a long sip of his lemonade.

Confident that he was in a safe place, Joe told the Pastor all about his situation. How he'd found Adam's stash and used it. How he'd enjoyed getting the improved grades he'd had since he started. How proud Pa seemed to be at all this. And then how this week's lessons were making him feel bad, because he'd never thought about what he was doing as really "cheating", and he hated to think he was a liar or a thief. He was simply not a happy little boy at all.

Long moments of silence passed when Joe finished his recitation, as Mr. Fletcher just sat back puffing slowly on his pipe.

"I see," he finally said. "Well that sounds like you're in a tough situation, Joe. What are you feeling? What do you feel like you want to do?"

"I feel bad. I ain't a thief or a liar, at least I've never thought I was. If I've been cheating I want to stop and make it right, but..." his voice trailed off.

"But... you're afraid to 'fess up?" Mr. Fletcher said, as he watched Joe nod miserably. "Are you afraid because you're ashamed and don't want to be embarrassed? Or is it that you've done wrong and don't want to be punished?"

"Both, sir. I don't know exactly how I feel. I know I feel scared a bit. But also I feel... well, just... wrong. Like 'dirty' or something."

"Is your conscience bothering you, Joe? Like when you've gotten mad and hurt somebody's feelings, and then you calm down and feel bad about it?"

"I dunno. How can you tell when your conscience is telling you you done something wrong? How can I separate it from being scared of just being found out as a cheater, and being scared of the punishment?"

"Well, first off... Thank you, Joe, for trusting me enough to come and talk, and realizing that you don't have to be embarrassed to talk to me. I won't tell on you or betray your secret. And I am not judging you, or angry, or disappointed, or any of that. I just feel really complimented that you feel you can rely on me and my advice. So thank you for that. Second, your feelings are totally natural and make sense. If you have cheated, and that comes out, you're likely to be punished and it makes perfect sense to be a bit fearful of that. Don't be ashamed of feeling scared about it. Punishment is meant to be fearful, and your concerns are totally appropriate.

"But now for the more important question you've asked, how do you know when you've done 'wrong'? It's not that hard, Joe. For me, I've found that when I feel an urge to hide something, rather than leave it out in the open, I may be doing something wrong. Not like keeping someone's private matters a secret... we're all entitled to the privacy of our thoughts. But when I DO something, and as I'm doing it I say to myself ... 'I can get away with this... No one will ever know,' then I'm usually doing something wrong. And believe me, I've done such things. We all have."

A few more moments passed, as Joe pondered these words.

"So..." Joe began, "maybe this sick feeling I've got, is just my conscience telling me I'm wrong? I've been doing wrong? And that's why I've wanted to hide this?"

"I dunno, Joe. What do YOU think? I can't feel what's in your heart. Only you can. Let me ask you this. This has only bothered you this week because of the lessons you've been doing in school. Is it possible that before you really thought through this cheating thing, you were able to just set aside the question so it didn't bother you? But now that you've had time to think about it, analyze it, write about it, you've become convinced that what you were doing was cheating? So that's why it bothers you now, but didn't before?"

"Yessir, that's it exactly," Joe nodded, with a bit of relief.

"OK, then am I hearing you say that you're NOW convinced that what you were doing was cheating, and you were doing wrong? I'm just checking if I'm understanding you right. I'm not accusing you of anything."

Joe nodded, "I know. And yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. I been cheating, and it was wrong. But now... but now I don't know what to do about it."

"Well I can surely understand that, Joseph. I've been in that place, too, and it's a tough spot to get out of," Pastor Fletcher nodded as he spoke in a calm comforting voice. "So, let's run through the possibilities. What could you do, what can you do, from where things stand?"

"Well, I could ignore it, and hope everything just blows over," Joe suggested hopefully.

"Indeed you could. Would you continue to submit the same kind of material, however?"

"Prolly not. I don't think I could be OK with that," Joe shook his head.

"All right. What else could you do?"

"I could tell Teacher what I done," Joe said, looking down at his toes.

"Right," Mr. Fletcher said, "I agree, those are your two possibilities, all right. You can either ignore the situation and hope for the best, while you feel fearful and ashamed or embarrassed about it all along. Or you can own up to the situation and correct it. Now, for the first option, you could have two possible outcomes, right? What could happen if you ignore all this?"

"Well, it could be that Miss Jones has figured out what I've done, and she could confront me with it. Then I'd be forced either to lie, or to admit it. If she could prove her case, and I was caught lying... or if I admitted it... either way, I'd be found out and I'd be punished. On the other hand, if I just come out and admit what I've done without her confronting me, at least I'd get credit for volunteering. The punishment may not be so harsh."

"Well thought through, Joseph. That takes care of the practical matter of punishment and your options. Now, what about what you would feel in either of those cases?" Mr. Fletcher asked gently.

"No question about it. If I step forward and admit what I've done on my own, I'd feel a lot better than if she has to confront me. It's just... just that I'd be in so much trouble. Pa'd be so disappointed, not to mention how embarrassing it would be to admit this to Miss Jones."

Joe just sat staring at his lemonade for a long time. Mr. Fletcher didn't say anything, letting the boy alone with his own thoughts. "I feel like such a heel. Mr. Fletcher?"

"Yes, Joseph," he answered, puffing calmly on his pipe.

"What do YOU think? Are you disappointed in me, sir?" Joe spoke just above a whisper, not daring to look the man in the eye.

"No, Joseph. Not at all," he smiled, shaking his head. "It's not like you went out of your way seeking a way to cheat in school. As you say, you were suddenly presented with a 'windfall', a shortcut to quick and easy good grades without a lot of work. That's a bushel full of temptation for a young lad not too excited about school and writing. And you gave in, taking advantage of what seemed like a gift. Was it wrong? I don't have to answer that, do I?"

Joe shook his head a bit miserably. "No, sir."

"But," the pastor continued, "does that mean I can't imagine ever doing the same thing? Or can I judge you harshly as if I haven't cut a corner or two in my own time? Nope. Everybody gives in to temptation once in a while, Joe. Especially if we haven't fully realized how wrong it is. The measure of a man isn't whether they've fallen a time or two, but what they do when they fall. Whether you choose to 'fess up or not, I'm not going to judge you or think less of you. But I CAN tell you this... you'll almost certainly judge yourself harshly, and think less of yourself."

"Yup," Joe looked up. "I think you're right. I can't let this go. But... what about the punishment? I'm gonna get paddled by Miss Jones, and for sure I'll get a hiding from Pa as well. You know how it is, I know Billy has the same rule."

"True," Mr. Fletcher nodded, "if you get paddled in school, you'll get a hiding at home, too. I don't know that there's any way around the problem, Joseph. If it's any comfort to you, though, I can tell you three things," he smiled and patted Joe encouragingly on the shoulder.

"What's that, sir?" Joe smiled, appreciating the comfort.

"One, I grew up with the same rule, and I've been in EXACTLY the same situation you're in. Two, I learned from that, and when I 'fessed up to doing something wrong on my own, it ALWAYS reduced the punishment. Three, if it would help you get through this, I'd be glad to go with you when you talk to Miss Jones. Sometimes it's just easier to face the music when somebody's on your side."

Joe looked much relieved as he turned to Mr. Fletcher, "Thanks a lot for that, sir. But I'll do this on my own. I've decided, I can't keep on this way, so I'll tell Miss Jones the truth tomorrow." Joe stood up, taking a cookie as he did. "Thank you so much for your time, and please thank Mrs. Fletcher for the cookies and lemonade. I feel an awful lot better, though I'm still a little scared. But I can do this. I need to get on home and get my chores done for now, but I'll tell Miss Jones I want to talk to her after school tomorrow, and we'll get things sorted out. I'll be all right, sir."

"I know you will, Joseph. I'm very proud of you, as I know Miss Jones and your Pa will be, as well. For what it's worth, just remember this quote, 'The coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave man dies but once.' I promise, whatever the consequences of your owning up, you'll feel a whole lot better than you did when you got here today." Pastor Fletcher stood up and gave Joe a quick hug around the shoulders.

Joe quickly turned to hug him back around the waist, before turning to untie Cochise and ride home. He'd ridden here from the schoolhouse with a bucket of lead in his stomach. Now, riding home, he certainly felt a bunch of butterflies there instead, but that seemed 100 times better than the alternatives. He'd decided, he'd been hided before when he'd earned it, no doubt he would again. But that was nothing to be so scared of that he made himself into a liar, a thief, or a cheat. Nope, that was not for him.

Tomorrow, he'd face down his demons.

A/N: I enjoy the Bonanza universe, and hope you like some of these short sniglets that bounce past my mental movie screen from time to time. Please feel free to comment and/or review. Thanks for reading, hopefully enjoying! Grace to you, Gentle Reader! - Mort