Because We’re Brothers #4

~ A Tragic Turn ~

by jfclover
~~~

I stretched my legs out in front of me and pulled my hat down low over my eyes. I tried to catch forty winks before Pa nudged my side again, wanting to show me something of interest out his side window. We’d reached the summit and were descending into the Sacramento Valley

The Central Pacific Railroad was the only way to travel as far as I was concerned, except for Pa’s constant babbling every time the train moved through a new ravine or ran atop a mountain ridge where a man could see forever. The sorrow in his voice couldn’t be missed when he saw the many gouges mangling the mountainside from men searching for the almighty dream of gold.

There were also advantages of riding first class on the new transcontinental rails. The food was excellent; prompt service was handled by one of the Negro porters who was hired by the Central Pacific to deal with any problem or situation the higher-paying customer might have.

Painted ladies, most often referred to as soiled doves, were also aboard the train. Unseen during daylight hours, they appeared scantily dressed in gaming rooms or gentlemen’s private cars, ready to entertain and seduce the weary traveler.

Even though my father had secured a private sleeping car for the trip from Truckee to San Francisco, it wasn’t intended for private entertainment by young ladies for such gentlemen as ourselves.

My brother, Adam, had taken up residence in San Francisco nearly two years ago, and although I assumed we’d visit more frequently than we had, neither of us had seen him for nearly a year.

Life on a growing ranch like the Ponderosa meant fewer holidays or days off. With lumber mills, silver mines, and cattle to contend with, Pa and I kept busy from morning till night.

Of course, we had hired hands, men we trusted to care for the ranch in our absence. Our new foreman, a young man named Tim Wilson, was not only an employee but a trusted friend and practically a member of the family. Pa had no reservations about leaving the young man in charge of ranch operations while we were away on a well-deserved holiday.

My father was getting on in years, and I had no choice but to take Adam’s place as Pa’s right-hand man. As much as I enjoyed running the day-to-day operations, there was still the dreaded bookwork. I remember saying once, in my younger days, that if or when I ever ran a ranch of my own, I’d hire a bookkeeper. Well, with my father still head of the household, some things were hard to change; Pa and I still did the books.

As I said earlier, Pa and I hadn’t seen Adam for nearly a year, but my father needed him now more than ever. It had been a tough year, and I’d rather not dwell, but it undoubtedly was the worst time of my life—it’s still the worst time of my life. Hoss, the most tender, the most loving, the best man I’ve ever known, passed away this year from an untimely and unfortunate illness, and though his life was cut short, our lives go on, and Pa and I are managing the best we know how.

Adam turns forty-five this week, and Pa thought it would be a grand idea to surprise him on his birthday with a visit from the two of us. I begged my father to write—to let Adam know we were on our way to San Francisco, but he was determined to make this visit a total surprise.

By the time we ferried across to San Francisco and booked ourselves in the newly opened Palace Hotel, often referred to as the Bonanza Inn, Pa and I were both anxious to be off the train and settled into a comfortable room with our feet planted firmly on the ground.

Last time I was in the city, I stayed in The Majestic. With its simple quarters and close to the hospital, it suited me just fine. But, when traveling with Pa, I thought he’d get a kick out of staying in the newest, most modern hotel in the city.

The Palace was the largest hotel west of the Mississippi though some called it the largest and most magnificent in the world. The ceiling offered a skylight with an impressive open space below—The Grand Court. Massive archways surrounded the impressive room with massive chandeliers, floors of imported marble, and winding iron-handled stairways.

On either side of the room were rising rooms, which lifted guests to their suites and, I hate to admit, scared me half to death. Maybe “modern” wasn’t my style just yet. Each suite was equipped with a private bathroom and a call button to summon a member of the hotel staff.

I’d reserved us a double suite, each with a parlor and a large bay window overlooking the street below. After the initial shock of seeing everything firsthand, we realized we were hungry and floated down, hydraulically, to the main lobby in search of one of the restaurants the hotel had to offer.

At some point during our five-course meal, I pleaded with Pa once again to let Adam know we were there, but he was dead set on seeing my brother’s face when we surprised him. Pa had always been a huge fan of surprise birthday parties and unexpected gifts for no reason or specific occasion. His generous nature was as much a part of him as was his dream—living on the Ponderosa with his sons.

What Pa tended to overlook was that Adam and I were not young boys anymore. Adam was a grown man with grown-up needs such as privacy and not the onslaught of family showing up at his door at an inopportune moment. Let’s just say I lost the battle.

After a hot bath in my private bathroom, I slept like a baby. Crawling between satin sheets and covering myself with a goose-down comforter, I was set for the night—heaven on earth. I could spend eternity nestled deep in that bed.

When I heard tapping on my bedroom door telling me Pa was up and dressed, eternity became short-lived. With a newspaper tucked up under his arm, he walked right in but I could tell something was bothering him.

“Good morning.”  I rolled to my back and stared at Pa, who was pacing the room. Trouble was brewing, but what—and so early? He stood, overlooking the street below, tapping the folded paper against his free hand. “I take it something’s upset you this morning.”

“You knew nothing of this?” Pa said, holding the paper up as if magically I would have a clue.

I sat up and leaned back against the padded headboard. “Nothing of what, Pa?” I scrubbed my hands over my face, trying to think.

“Your brother,” he said.

“My brother?”

“How long has Adam worked for the Chronicle?”

Adam was an architect, wasn’t he? Maybe I was just dreaming. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and remembered I hadn’t bothered to dress after my bath. “Pa? Hand me that robe, will ya?” I waited and watched as he marched toward the bathroom in a huff and grabbed the heavy terrycloth robe from a hook on the door. “Thanks.”

“Your brother is a reporter for the Chronicle. Did you know that, Joseph? Is this why you’ve been after me to tell Adam we were coming?”

“Pa, calm down.”

“I am calm,” he said, but glaring at me just the same. “Why wasn’t I told?”

“Pa, I know as much as you do, which is nothing at all. Why are you so upset?” My morning voice cracked an octave higher than normal.

“Why wasn’t I told?” His voice was raised again, and I feared someone would end up knocking on our door, telling us to keep it down.

“I don’t know why. Maybe because—maybe—I don’t know, Pa, but I’m sure we’ll find out as soon as you let me get dressed and we have something to eat.”

I needed Pa to slow down—calm down—since I knew our first order of business this morning would be Adam and the Chronicle. If he barged in like a bull in a china shop, everyone would be embarrassed, especially my brother. But I was intrigued. Adam and I had a mutual friend, Jake Jacobs, a reporter at the Chronicle, and I’m guessing Jacobs must have had something to do with my brother’s decision to change careers.

“Does Adam have a byline in the paper, Pa?”

“Your brother writes a weekly column.”

“May I read it?”

“I’m hungry,” Pa said. “Why don’t you get dressed and meet me downstairs at the Gentlemen’s Grille right off the main lobby?

“All right.”

Pa was really in a mood. He took the newspaper with him, and I wasn’t allowed to read the column until he was ready to share. I cleaned my teeth and shaved then slipped on my regular ranch clothes, minus the gunbelt, which I’d brought with me, but kept concealed in the bottom of my carpetbag since the Palace Hotel was no place for sidearms. I had no other choice now but to meet my brooding father for breakfast.

The minute I sat down, coffee was served in tiny, china cups, too small for Hoss’ hands and almost too small for mine—so many memories—everyday things that brought back fond memories of my big brother. Although I didn’t react as I would have a year ago, my heart still ached, thinking about that time, thinking about the doctor, who was much less capable than our own Doc Martin, the man who might have come up with a different procedure to save my brother.

“Why don’t we start over?” I said to Pa.

Pa took a deep breath. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to jump all over you, Joseph, but I was shocked when I turned to the second page and I saw your brother’s name at the heading of a column in the morning paper.”

“Mind if I read it?”

“Here,” he said, handing me the reason for the uproar.

A waiter handed us menus, and I placed my order so I could glance through Adam’s column. It wasn’t too long or overly wordy, but highly informative, just like I would have expected from my eldest brother. No flowery descriptions, just thorough information, and truths as seen through Adam’s eyes.

I handed Pa back the paper. “He did a nice job, don’t you think?”

“Yes, of course, he did.”

“Then you’re not mad because he’s writing the column, you’re just upset that you weren’t told about his decision, right?”

Pa folded the paper and placed it on the table, then leaned forward, steadying his coffee cup with both hands. “Right, Joseph. Satisfied?”

“Yessir.”

Pa was quiet and reflective during the cab ride across town. Adam had reasons for not telling Pa about his new venture, but I’d wait and let my brother explain the circumstances since I knew nothing about it myself. If we’d only let Adam know we were coming—

The cab stopped in front of the large building with “The Chronicle” engraved in stone above the arched doorway. I paid the driver, and Pa and I climbed the six stairs and walked into the building. We stopped at the front desk, and Pa asked for Adam Cartwright’s office.

“I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Cartwright is out on assignment this morning. Would you care to leave a message?” I could only pray Pa would give in and let Adam know we were here in the city, and after some careful thought, he finally agreed. “Yes, I’ll leave a message.”

I felt relieved.

Pa wanted to visit the wharf before we went back to the hotel. He had often docked there as a young man, and he figured Adam would be away from the office for a while, which gave us time for a little sightseeing before the confrontation began.

I’d told Pa most of what had happened two years ago when I’d stayed with Adam, but not every detail. I hadn’t mentioned the seven dead boys who were murdered down on the wharf; in fact, there was a lot of information that only remained between brothers. But I was doing better now.

Time passes, and events in a man’s life change his perspective. A great deal has transpired in the two years since Adam’s business partner, Jackson Collier, wanted to punish me, and then kill me for things he thought I knew. As I gazed out at the rolling tide of the Pacific, I recalled some of those memories—not memories of Jackson and San Francisco, but others—memories that were nearer to my heart.

“What’s up with you, Hoss? You seem off your feed.”

“I don’t rightly know, Joe. I ain’t felt quite right this whole trip.”

“Maybe you’re too old for these drives,” I kidded the big man who slumped in the saddle. “Maybe you shoulda stayed home, relaxin’ with Pa in a big easy chair.”

“I ain’t too old for no cattle drive, Joseph; now leave me be.”

Constant rain for three days had slowed us down, and we needed to make up time if we wanted to make the deadline and be paid the full amount for our cattle. We woke to sunny skies, finally, and I was up before anyone else, pushing Hoss and our drovers to get up and get the herd moving.

I sounded like my father, grunting out orders, but I knew what was at stake, and we’d already lost an entire day due to the rain. In hindsight, I should have realized Hoss was worse for wear than he’d let on but for me, who was still driven to prove myself to my father, I pushed and I pushed, and my big brother never complained—never said a word to slow me down.

By the time we reached Fallon and delivered the herd, Hoss was so sick with fever that he nearly fell off his horse. By the time I’d exchanged the herd for a cashier’s check, Hoss was being held on his feet by two of our drovers.

“What’s this all about?” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

“Your brother’s sick, Mr. Cartwright.”

I felt sick myself, knowing how hard I’d forced everyone, especially Hoss, to get the cattle there on time. “There must be a doctor in town. Stay put—” I ran back inside the bank where Mr. Wilkins and I had just completed the deal. “Where can I find a doctor?” I hollered to anyone who would listen.

“Third house on the right—south end of town,” a man sitting behind a desk answered.

I was back in a flash. I stepped in for one of the drovers, explaining where the doc lived, and ran down and told him we were on our way.

Barely able to put one foot in front of the other, my brother hung on to us both as we stumbled our way down the rutted street only half the size of C Street back home. The doctor stood outside waiting. He swung open his front door and showed us to his surgery. The table he normally used for his patients was much too high to lift Hoss on so the doctor suggested the bed be moved off to the side but in the same room.

“My brother’s real sick,” I said as if the doctor didn’t realize that himself.

“If you’ll help me undress him, at least get his shirt off, I can take a better look.”

“Hoss?” I whispered, but there was no response. I glanced up at the doc. “What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know yet, sir, but I aim to find out.”

I unbuttoned my brother’s shirt, finding it soaked with fevered sweat, but it was impossible to lift the dead weight to remove it as the doc had requested. The doc stood over my brother and rested his stethoscope on Hoss’ chest. He checked his eyes; he felt his pulse.

I stood back a ways, waiting for any kind of reaction. I’d sent the other drover on his way—told him to tell the men to hold up in the saloon and I’d be there with their pay as soon as possible.

The doctor straightened back up, and after taking the stethoscope from his ears and walking over to lay it on his desk, he turned back to me. “I can’t be certain just yet, but it appears your brother has pneumonia.”

“What? How?” My mind raced. Just a few days ago, Hoss had the sniffles and now? “Are you certain, Doc?”

“His chest is congested and his heartbeat is faster than I like to see, but no, I’m not altogether positive. It’s my best guess right now.”

I knew what needed to be done, but I didn’t want to leave Hoss alone, not knowing this man or knowing whether I could trust him to do right by my brother. We were so far from home, but Pa had to know what was happening, and the men had to be paid. I leaned down a second time.

“Hoss? Can you hear me?” My brother moaned slightly. He was trying to open his eyes, but he couldn’t manage anything but to pull in craggy gulps of air.

I looked at the doc. “I need to send a telegram. Will he be all right while I’m gone?”

“I’ll do my best. Name’s Eli Sloan by the way, Mr.—”

“Joe Cartwright, Doc, and this is my brother, Hoss. We’re from Virginia City way.”

“Cartwright,” he said, nodding his head. “Seems I’ve heard the name ….”

“I won’t be long, Doc, but I’ve got to send that telegram.”

I ran down the boardwalk to the bank for cash for the men then raced through the batwing doors of the Golden Nugget Saloon where I found our drovers sharing a bottle. I handed the men their pay, plus a bonus for all their hard work. They’d worked hard to get the herd here on time. I picked up one of the men’s glasses and downed a shot myself, then left the saloon and headed for the telegraph office.

“`

Ben Cartwright, Virginia City, Nevada (stop)

Hoss seriously ill in Fallon (stop)

Herd handed over to Wilkins (stop)

Joseph Cartwright (stop)

“`

I hurried back to the doc’s house, never knocking before I barged through the front door. What I saw made my stomach turn. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Bloodletting, Mr. Cartwright. It’s common practice for this type of illness.”

“Bloodletting?”

“This is the wet-cupping method. See here? It works as a vacuum to release blood from the body.”

I moved farther into the room and stood at the foot of the bed and watched my brother’s blood being sucked from his body, something I’d never seen Dr. Martin do to any of his patients. “I’m not sure this—”

“It’s a proven method, I assure you, Mr. Cartwright. The practice of bloodletting is centuries old.”

“But, I—” I couldn’t help turning my head away. Was this right? Would this help Hoss? The man was a doctor. His credentials hung on the wall over his desk. “Has he said anything? Asked for me?”

“Once, he called your name.” And I wasn’t here when he called. “But he’s been quiet ever since.

“Are you about finished, Doc?”

“All done. I need to clean my tools, Mr. Cartwright. Will you stay here with your brother?”

Blood filled the cup—Hoss’ blood. “Yeah—sure—I’ll stay.”

I squatted down next to the bed, repeating Hoss’ name over and over when finally, he opened his eyes. I took his hand in mine. I felt him squeeze, but gently. His breathing was shallow and quick; I heard a rasping sound in his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me you were so sick, Hoss?”

“The cattle—” he mumbled.

“They’re all taken care of. All you have to do is get well so we can head back home.” Tears welled in my eyes, but I didn’t dare let Hoss see.

The doctor came back in and nodded to me when he saw Hoss awake. “That’s a good sign, Mr. Cartwright. He’s holdin’ his own.” I breathed a sigh of relief. That’s the first good news I’d heard since we’d arrived in town. “He should sleep for a while now.”

It was late evening, and I’d just finished supper the doc’s wife had fixed so I wouldn’t have to leave. My eyelids were heavy. I was exhausted. I’d sat by my brother’s bedside all evening, listening to the strained effort it took for him to breathe. The doc had explained how we would treat him tomorrow if his cough became worse and his breathing took a turn for the worse. He used quinine to reduce the fever, but he’d add chloral hydrate to relieve any discomfort and ease his breathing. I had to trust Dr. Sloan’s decisions but for now, Hoss was sleeping comfortably.

By the second day, Hoss’s condition had deteriorated. I’d helped Sloan lift my brother to a sitting position to ease the coughing and administer the choral hydrate. If he wasn’t sleeping, Hoss seemed to be choking more than coughing, and then from sheer exhaustion, he’d fall back asleep.

But by day three, a sudden change—Hoss was alert and his symptoms had more or less subsided. The fever was gone and his breathing was more relaxed—more even. It didn’t take much to see the change in my attitude toward the doctor’s odd but vital treatment as Hoss was able to sit and respond almost like normal. The doc had worked magic and Hoss was on the mend.

I don’t think I’d slept more than ten minutes at a time since we’d hit this town, and I’d grown weary. I needed a bath and a shave although I hadn’t taken time for either. Sloan’s wife kept me fed, and I appreciated her kind words and the gentle way she had about her when she helped tend my brother.

The day we’d arrived, she’d offered me a bed in the back room of their home, but I had declined the offer, telling her I was needed here with Hoss. Maybe that was foolish on my part because I was so tired now I could barely function.

“Your brother should sleep the remainder of the night, Mr. Cartwright. Why don’t you take this opportunity to get some sleep also?”

“You think he’ll sleep?” I asked, rubbing my hand over my face.

“Maybe I’ll go get a bath and a shave. I think I’d feel better.”

“I’ll stay with your brother tonight. You go ahead.”

I soaked for nearly an hour before the barber hollered he wanted to close up shop. “Be right out,” I yelled from the back room, knowing I must have dozed off at some point. I pulled a clean shirt from my saddlebag, paid the barber, and gave him the rest of the evening to himself.

I started back to the doc’s house when I decided I deserved a celebratory drink. Hoss was on the mend and soon we’d be heading home. I’d heard from Pa on the second day, and I’d sent a return telegram early this morning, discouraging him from making the trip. Hoss was doing much better and we’d be home as soon as possible.

I ventured into the Golden Nugget, grabbed a bottle from the barkeep, and sat at a table near the rear of the saloon. The first drink shot through my head like a bullet, but I was too tired to care. The second and the third made me half dizzy. I almost laughed. I wasn’t a sixteen-year-old kid, but that’s exactly how I felt.

I noticed a pretty, young barmaid dressed in a short, satin dress with a frilly, lace bodice flit from table to table, and when she caught my eye, she waltzed across the room, smiling. I must have smiled back because she picked up a clean glass off the bar and planted herself at my table.

“Welcome to Fallon, Cowboy.”

I picked up the bottle and poured the lady a drink. She had a soft voice and a sweet smile, not brassy and loud like some. She was just what I needed after the past few days. I poured her a drink and leaned back in my chair, enjoying the easy conversation between the two of us.

When the bottle ran empty, I tried to suppress a yawn, telling her I really should go. I’d explained to Hoss why I’d been held over in town, and that I needed to get back to Doc’s and make sure he was okay. That’s when she reached up, gently turning my face towards hers. Her lips pressed gently against mine—warm and moist—and when her hand ran slowly up my leg, finding the hardened treasure she’d searched for, I decided a few extra minutes spent in her room wouldn’t hurt. Knowing Hoss was well taken care of at Doc’s and not wanting to waste a bath and a shave, I found myself being dragged up the stairs.

A loud rapping noise at the door woke the two of us from blessed slumber. I’d only meant to stay a short time, but I’d fallen asleep in her bed. She was the first one up, pulling on a sheer robe and asking questions without opening the door. “What is it?” she said, sounding annoyed.

“You still got that cowboy in your room, Ruthie?”

“What if I do, Jake?”

“Doc wants him to come to the house.”

“Oh God,” I mumbled, grabbing my clothes with shaking hands. “What have I done?”

Sloan stopped me at the front door. The door to his surgery was closed. My heart pounded; I tried to swallow but fear nearly choked me. “What happened? Is Hoss—” I said.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cartwright, but your brother passed away about an hour ago.”

I stood without moving. I tried to form simple words. “May—may I see him?”

“If you’re sure you—”

“I’m sure.”

“I’ve spoken to the undertaker. He should be here shortly.”

Hoss’s body was covered with a clean, white sheet. I crossed the room; I needed to see his face once more. I wasn’t with my brother when he needed me most. I’d never know his last words or his last thoughts, and I cursed the day I was born. While I lay in bed with a whore, my brother died alone.

“Joseph? Joe? Something wrong, son?”

I shivered from the cool breeze coming in off the ocean but turned toward my father. Tears burned my eyes and stained my face. He knew. Pa knew where my mind had drifted, and he wrapped his arm around me, squeezing gently as he pulled me to his side. I didn’t cry for Hoss; I cried for us, the ones left behind.

When we returned to the Hotel, a message from Adam was waiting at the front desk. Pa opened it quickly and shot me a look. “Well?” I said.

“He’ll meet us here at six.”

“Anything else?”

“Nothing.”.

Pa’s fretted mood was back, and I’d rather be anywhere than with my father when he was upset over matters he couldn’t control. “How about a nap before dinner, Pa.” It was only a suggestion, and I hoped Pa would take me up on the idea, but the look was back. He knew exactly what I was saying even though he refrained from commenting. “I’ll knock on your door when it’s time to get ready for dinner.”

“Thank you, Joseph. How could I ever get along without you?”

His sarcastic remark though not harsh, hung in the air for a beat or two before I replied congenially, “That’s okay, Pa.  That’s why I’m here.”

Pa smiled. The tension over Adam’s decision to change careers without telling him was subdued for a time, and we walked to the rising room together.

By 5:30, I’d shined my black boots and had dressed in my blue suit. I knocked on Pa’s door, peeked in, and found my father dressed in his new black suit and a twenty-year-old silver vest. “My, don’t we look dashing tonight.”

“Yes, we do, don’t we, Joseph. Shall we go?”

“After you.”

As we descended into the Grand Court, I spotted Adam waiting patiently for the two of us to arrive. I couldn’t help but smile as soon as we made eye contact. Whether to humor my father or not, my eldest brother was also dressed in a black suit and silver vest—maybe on purpose—maybe not.

We met each other in the center of the Court, and after slaps on the back and warm, friendly handshakes, we gave our names to the maître d’ and were seated at a table in the dining room.

“I have to admit I’m surprised to see you and Joe here in San Francisco,” Adam said to my father. “Did I miss a telegram or a letter?” I was curious as to Pa’s response, so I folded my hands in my lap and waited to see how he pulled this off.

“We came to San Francisco to surprise you on your 45^th birthday, son.”

Adam nodded his head. “I see, but it’s not for another two days.”

“Pa was a little anxious after he read this morning’s paper,” I calmly mentioned.

Again, the nodding head. “I bet you were,” Adam said with a hint of a smile in my direction.

“Well?” Pa said. I knew he was chomping at the bit to know the story behind Adam’s, shall we say, career change with no mention whatsoever.

A waiter stood, not wanting to interrupt our conversation, but Adam seemed glad the man had arrived and he glanced at Pa. “May I?” Pa nodded. “We’ll have a bottle of your best California Zinfandel, please.”

“Excellent selection, sir.”

Adam started the evening’s conversation asking about the Ponderosa and some of his old friends while we waited for the wine to arrive, knowing that after it was brought to our table, he’d have to fill my father in on his decision and why. The explanation was about to begin.

“My guess is you were a bit surprised when you saw my name and read my column in this morning’s Chronicle,” Adam said, lifting himself straighter in his chair.

“I was.”

“My next guess is you are wondering how this came about.”

“I am.”

“Well then, let me explain.”

I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing hysterically at the antics of my father and brother. I was always amazed at how Pa did it—how he could make a grown man feel like a ten-year-old boy. I shudder to think how Adam must feel having to clarify his actions to Pa.

“Well, it all began about a month ago after I sold the business.”

“Sold the business? The firm?”

“Yes, the firm. My heart wasn’t in it, Pa. I tried to make a go of it after Jackson was sent to prison, but I lacked the drive. I lacked what it took to handle it alone.”

Pa shook his head. “Did you try to find another partner?”

“No, I didn’t. It had become a way to get by; a way to make a living, but it didn’t satisfy me career-wise. Does that make sense?”

“I guess it does, son, but I thought architecture had been your dream, your one desire in life.”

Adam leaned back in his chair, cradling his glass of wine with both hands. “It was at first, but not after the trial. My whole attitude soured after what Joe and I, well Joe really, had been through with Jackson. I lost the energy it took, and the excitement was gone.”

“So now you’re a newspaperman, is that it?”

Adam sat up straighter; he set his glass on the table. “Yes, that’s about it. I write a weekly column. No heavy restrictions, just my take—my comments on what goes on around me. It could be politics; it could be how California grows grapes for the wine we’re drinking right now or even how an unexpected visit with my father and brother turned out. I’m allowed to write most anything.”

“You’d be wise to keep Joseph and me out of your column, young man.”

I watched Adam suppress a smile at the term “young man” and answer my father. “Yes, sir.” The look Pa gave to the “young man” sitting across from him was stern although the ice was melting and a smile would eventually replace the mock frown. The story had been told and the anxiety Pa carried throughout the day had subsided. I felt safer now.

“So Joe, tell me what’s been happening in your life.” The waiter showed up just at the right moment to tell us this evening’s specials. We ordered first then I filled Adam in even though he’d already been informed of anything that went on back home through weekly letters from Pa.

“Same ol’, same ol’—cattle, mining, and lumber. You know the routine. The Ponderosa prospers even without you around, big brother.”

“I knew it would, little brother.”

Pa let his views, whatever they might have been concerning Adam’s career change, drop when he realized how happy and content his eldest son seemed to be. I asked Adam about Jake Jacobs. Adam said Jake was anxious to meet up with me again when he’d mentioned Pa and I were in town.

“I’d like to see him, too, Adam. I knew the two of you would hit it off.”

“We have, Joe. He’s a good friend.”

Instead of a second bottle of wine after dinner, Adam suggested we leave the restaurant and go to the billiard room—a gentleman’s room, where we were served excellent brandy and tightly rolled cigars by the most elegant and extremely well-endowed young ladies in all of San Francisco.

We laughed over old times, which Adam and I purposely included Hoss and some of the crazy things we’d done when we were younger and still terrified by the wrath of Ben Cartwright. “It wasn’t me, Joe. It was the two of you who caused all the trouble,” Adam said, glancing at Pa.

“I seem to recall a thoroughbred horse you and Hoss bought, bound and determined to win that Virginia City race,” Pa added after Adam’s comment.

“Well, I’ll admit to that one mistake—”

“A big mistake, brother,” I said, grinning. “You know I still have that rifle I won off you as part of the bet.” The three of us laughed and then raised our glasses in a toast to each other, and especially to Hoss, remembering how it all went down that day of the race.

The evening was growing late. Adam had to be at work early the next morning, and Pa looked beat. “How about we meet for lunch tomorrow?” I said.

“Lunch sounds good.”

“I know this little place called Le Café that’s close to your office, Adam.”

“Then Le Café it is—noon?”

“Noon, and bring Jacobs if you can.”

“We’ll see.”

I hadn’t the nerve to ask Adam about Kate, especially in front of Pa, but she’s a young lady my brother had grown quite fond of a couple of years ago. I didn’t know if they were an item still or not, but since her father owned the café, we’d find that out tomorrow.

Pa and I had a leisurely morning, reading the paper and having breakfast sent up to our rooms. I didn’t feel the need to leave the hotel until lunchtime, and apparently, neither did Pa although my father seemed unusually quiet.

“Anything wrong, Pa?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” I poured us another cup of coffee, and we continued reading separate sections of the paper.

Pa folded the newspaper and laid it in his lap. “Do you think Adam’s happy, son?”

I lowered my section and looked across the table at Pa. “He seems to be. Why do you ask?”

“I’m not sure. It seemed he was holding back, not telling us everything.”

“Come on, Pa. What else is there to tell? He switched jobs.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just an old man worrying.”

“There’s nothin’ to worry about. Adam’s fine.” I laid the paper on the table and stood up from my chair. “I’m gonna take a bath.”

“You kind of like having your own bathroom, don’t you, son?”

“You bet I do.”

We arrived early for lunch at Le Café. I’d hoped to be greeted by Kate, but instead, a young gentleman showed us to our table. I hesitated to ask about her and decided to just wait for Adam to explain, but before he arrived, I spotted her, an apron tied around her waist and looking somewhat disheveled, standing in the rear section of the restaurant. She looked right at us, and a grin appeared. She removed the apron and pushed back loose strands of hair before crossing the room.

“Joe, Mr. Cartwright, how wonderful to see you.”

We both stood up from our seats. “Kate,” I said, pulling her close and giving her a welcoming hug. Just then, Adam walked through the front door. “Looks like I have to let you go, darlin’.” She turned and smiled at Adam.

“You never could keep your hands off the ladies, could you, Joe?”

“Not one as lovely as Kate.”

Adam slipped his arm around Kate’s waist and gently kissed her on the cheek. “I suggest you watch your step from now on, little brother.”

I raised my hands in the air and took a step back. “I surrender. She’s all yours.”

Pa finally had the chance to step forward, taking Kate’s hand in his. “It’s nice to see you, Kate.”

“It’s good to see you again, too, sir.”

“I’ll be back shortly,” Adam said then followed Kate back into the kitchen.

“Do you still think he’s unhappy, Pa?”

My father chuckled. “She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she?”

“She sure is and she makes him happy.”

“I’ll have to agree with you there, Joseph.”

Adam had ordered blue-plate specials for all of us and helped Kate carry our lunches out from the kitchen. He explained that her father had died last year and she’d taken over the kitchen duties while her younger brother worked the dining room. “It seems to work out well for both parties, but then Kate doesn’t have time to sit and visit during mealtime either.”

“So my guess is you take your meals at off hours,” I said.

“Basically—”

Adam could tell an entire story with one drawn-out word. He and Kate seemed happy together to me, but I wondered why there were no marriage plans after two years of courting. I’d bug him about it as soon as we had time alone together. I didn’t dare bring it up in front of my father.

“Hey, where’s Jacobs?” I asked.

“Out on assignment, Joe. He sent his apologies before he left and said he’ll meet up with all of us another time.”

“Well, tomorrow’s your birthday, old man.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Now, son,” Pa interrupted. “Birthdays are to be celebrated and that’s the reason Joe and I are here.”

“And what did you have in mind, some gala event?” Adam said with a cringing sound in his voice.

“Oh, let’s see,” I said, leaning back in my chair and tapping my index finger on my lips. “Whiskey, fast women, oh, and some of them fancy cigars, and—”

“Joseph,” Pa whispered loudly. “That’ll do.”

“Why, Pa, did you have something else in mind?”

There was that look, advising me to shut my mouth or die so I did. Pa offered Adam dinner anywhere he chose and with whomever he wanted to bring along. The surprise part of the party was off.

“Well then, how about the Palace at eight? You pick the restaurant and I’ll bring Kate and see if Jake can join us.”

“That sounds perfect, son. Tomorrow night at eight.”

Adam needed to get back to the Chronicle, and it looked as though Pa could use a nap, but I wouldn’t suggest one again. I hadn’t realized how much I missed my brother until we spent time together. The memories of all the times we’d shared, good or bad, seemed to melt into one big happy memory, and I was pleased Pa had decided we would make this trip.

The following day, I planned to walk around the city, and although Pa frowned when I wanted to take off alone, he also realized we needed time away from each other if this little vacation was going to work. I assured him I’d be fine. “The bad guys are in prison, Pa. No need to worry. Can you make it back to the Palace on your own?”

“Oh, I think I can manage, Joseph.” Again, the look.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said, giving Pa a look of my own. “I just need some fresh air—not cooped up in the hotel all afternoon.”

“You’ll be back in time for the celebration?”

“Wouldn’t dare be late.” A small cab pulled up, and Pa crawled inside. “See you in a while,” I said, waving as they pulled away.

I knew who I wanted to see this afternoon. An old friend who’d been kind and had taken me in when I needed nothing more than a hot meal, a warm bed, and whether I wanted it or not, some sound advice. Silas and his wife Delsey Barton had done that for me after I’d been beaten, robbed, and left for dead after leaving …

How could I possibly forget a woman I thought I loved, a woman who said she loved me only to find out it was all a plot to end my life? Abby Collier was that woman and now that I was back in San Francisco, memories of our time together were vivid in my mind.

I hadn’t thought of her in some time although two years ago she was all I thought about. Adam had tried to warn me that she might not be all she seemed, but I’d refused to listen. I was a man, falling in love and nothing else mattered.

She and her brother were in cahoots, planning to kill me after a letter written to Jackson had disclosed I’d killed their father. Whether self-defense was mentioned or that his finger was on the trigger, I didn’t know, but to the Collier siblings, the details didn’t matter. Jackson had other troubles to deal with, but as for Abby, she was only avenging her father’s death.

She and her brother had been sent to prison for attempted murder—Jackson facing a twenty-five-year sentence and Abby, two years in a women’s prison for her part in the ordeal. She’d be released soon, and I wondered what would become of her.

I walked briskly until I saw the small barbershop situated close to the wharf. Silas stood out in front, leaning against the small structure, smoking his hand-rolled cigar. Just as I came within shouting distance, he recognized me and waved his hand over his head in a friendly greeting.

“Is my eyes foolin’ me or is it Joe Cartwright, comin’ to pay ol’ Silas a call?”

“How are you, Silas?” I extended my hand.

“I’m doin’ fine, son, but looks to me like someone’s dun come a mighty long way for a haircut.”

I remembered the last time Silas and I discussed the length of my hair, and I chuckled, knowing we’d argue again. “Just here for a visit, Silas, not a haircut.”

“But—”

“Just a visit,” I repeated.

“If’n that’s the way you want it, I bet Delsey would brew us up a pot.”

“That sounds great.”

It took Delsey a minute to recognize me, but as soon as she did, she wrapped her slender arms around me and then slipped into the kitchen to put the coffee on to boil.

We talked like we’d seen each other just yesterday when in fact, it had been two years. Not much had changed and I enjoyed their company. I explained why we were here, and I only had today to visit, since my father and I would be leaving for home in two days. I tried to explain some of the goings-on at the ranch although I’m not sure any of it made sense to city folks.

I was glad to see they both seemed healthy and were doing well. I thanked my friends for their hospitality and I started my trek back to the hotel. Pa should be rested by now and maybe we’d have time to drop into the billiard room before dinner. I sure enjoyed the attention of the lovely young ladies determined to make our stay at the Palace a most memorable one.

The adjoining door was closed between Pa’s room and my own. I pulled out my timepiece, not yet 5:00. Maybe I would let Pa sleep a bit longer before dinner, that way I could enjoy the extraordinary aspects of the Billiard Room without reservation.

My glass was filled with a French Boudreaux, and I was completely content to lean back, letting the softly tanned leather comfort me. Sipping and watching, life was good. The room was far from crowded at this time of day, and it wasn’t long before a beautiful, dark-haired woman sat down on the arm of my chair.

“New in town?”

“Just visiting.”

There was a strong indication that this young lady was more than willing to entertain me in ways my father would find objectionable. I glanced at the grandfather clock across the room and knew I’d have to leave soon. I offered to buy the woman a drink and then explained my time constraints. I sure hated to leave. I should have thought of the Gentlemen’s Billiard Room a bit earlier in the day.

After taking the rising room, I knocked on Pa’s door. No answer. I listened for water running, thinking maybe he enjoyed a bath as much as I did, but all was quiet. I knocked again as I opened the door. Pa lay sleeping, and as much as I hated to wake him, I knew he’d want time to bathe and dress before it got too late.

“Time to rise and shine, Pa.” I separated the heavy drapes, hanging across the bay window. I turned back and walked toward the bed. “Pa? Time to—” My father lay face up—eyes open—unmoving. “Pa?” I touched his shoulder—nothing. One side of his face drooped, not matching the other. I didn’t have time to panic.

The rooms were set up with an intercom system and the portal was next to Pa’s bed. I called down for help—a doctor, immediately—room 669. There was a doctor on staff at the hotel, and he stood beside my father within minutes of my call.

I waited patiently for the doctor to say something, anything, but I already knew what had happened. I’d seen old man Carver when I was a young man serving time after the same thing had happened to him. He’d suffered a stroke just as my father had. The old man eventually died, never uttering another word, never working again, or even walking, nothing to do but sit and stare.

I swallowed hard. Not my father. Not the man who’d been my lifeline, my strength, everything my entire life. The doctor turned to me, and a look of sorrow appeared on his face. He was apologetic, but his words were clear. Pa had suffered a stroke.

“What do we do now, Doc?”

The doctor looked me in the eye, and I knew what the prognosis was—nothing—just like old man Carver. “It’s up to your father and his constitution. I can’t do much else for him. He needs rest. His body had suffered a tremendous shock.”

My mind was numb. I had so many questions, but I couldn’t seem to form the words—couldn’t get them past my lips. I stared down at Pa and closed my eyes. I couldn’t imagine what lay ahead for him, for us.

“Can he see me, hear me?”

‘It’s possible.”

While I stared into my father’s lifeless eyes, I leaned over the bed and touched his shoulder. “Pa?” A slight movement? A flicker of hope? “Pa, it’s Joe. Pa?”

“I think he can hear me, Doc.”

“As I said, it’s possible though not probable.”

I was getting nowhere with the doctor. Did he care about my father? My frustration grew every time he opened his mouth. “What happens next?”

“We need to make sure he has enough to drink, but we won’t feed him till tomorrow sometime. We want to make sure he can swallow well enough and not choke in the process.”

Taking in large amounts of air, I crossed the room. I was losing patience with this man. “Feed him tomorrow,” I mumbled. I stumbled back across the room, stood toe to toe with the doctor, and let loose. “This is my father. His name is Ben Cartwright and you will treat him with respect. You will also treat him with the best medicine and the best means available to you. He’s not an animal we’ll feed tomorrow. He’s a man, a proud man, which from this point on you will keep in mind. Do you understand?”

The doctor held his ground. “Yes, I do, Mr. Cartwright, and I apologize if I indicated anything less than the utmost respect.”

The doctor was apologetic. He hadn’t meant anything by what he’d said, and maybe I’d overreacted. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t worry yourself, Mr. Cartwright, no offense taken. I understand what you’re going through.”

“Call me Joe, Doc. Mr. Cartwright is lying in that bed.” I glanced over my shoulder at Pa and then back to the doc. “If I write out a message, will you drop it at the main desk and make sure someone will have it delivered?”

“`

Adam Cartwright c/o Chronicle

Come to the hotel immediately.

Room 669

Joe

“`

Maybe I’d dozed off because I was startled at first, then moved quickly when I heard a loud knocking at the door of my suite. “Adam, come in.” I grabbed my brother’s arm and pulled him into the room.

“What’s this all about, Joe? What’s going on?”

Eager to share the news and not bear the burden alone, but scared to say the words aloud—scared it would make everything more real; I crossed the room. I moved away from Adam and then tried to keep my hands from shaking as I poured the two of us a brandy before I said the words. “Pa’s had a stroke.”

“Stroke?” Adam mumbled. “How bad?”

“It’s bad.”

Adam set his glass on the marble top table and I followed him into our father’s room. His reaction was similar to mine. He stared at Pa in disbelief, and when he turned to face me, he wiped the corner of his eye. He composed himself immediately as only my brother could do.

“How did this happen, Joe?”

“I went for a walk after lunch. Pa came back to the hotel for a rest. When I got back here, he—” Why didn’t I ride back with Pa? If only I’d—maybe I could have prevented—

I racked my brain over how things might have turned out differently if only I’d been here. Would it have made a difference? Could I have prevented this from happening to him? I was full of unanswered questions and immeasurable guilt.

Had I ignored the signs? Pa had been tired, and I had attributed it to the long train ride, but were there other signs, ones I’d missed, ones I’d thought were no big deal, just like I’d done with my brother when he was so sick on the drive?

I brought the decanter into Pa’s room where Adam and I sat. Was this a death sentence like it turned out for old man Carver? Was Pa a prisoner trapped in this body—a living hell he couldn’t escape?

Nothing I could do would change what had already happened. If I could only turn back the clock and not have left Pa alone. I wasn’t here with him when he needed me. Could I have made the difference? I dared not ask the doctor for fear of knowing the truth.

I needed to be strong, not weak like a child. Pa needed Adam and me like never before and together we’d see this through. As my father had always done for me and for my brothers, whatever it took to get us well and back on our feet, I vowed to do the same for him.

As I sat next to Pa’s bed, watching the rise and fall of his chest and contemplating a dismal future, flashes of times long ago—a lifetime ago—flooded my thoughts. The four of us together, riding across our land, protecting what was ours, then a more tender memory of the four of us gathered around the dining room table, celebrating a birthday with candles too numerous to count, flaming atop a cake Hop Sing had proudly set down on the dining room table for a member of “his” family.

Times like those—my entire family together—brought tears of joy before giving way to tears of sorrow as they did only a year ago when I brought my brother’s body home to rest.

Adam sat motionless, as did I. Was he caught up in his memories? Were they the same as mine? There was no conversation. There was no need.

Adam stayed the night; a silent vigil prevailed.

My eyes slowly opened after recognizing the sound—the gentle tapping—as the doctor rapped on our hotel door. I was shaken by the fact that, sometime in the night, Adam and I had both fallen asleep in chairs next to Pa’s bed. I laid my hand on my father’s chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall, then motioned for Adam to stay put. “I’ll get it,” I said.

“Morning, Doc.” I waved the doctor inside, and we crossed the room where Pa lay, unmoving, just like the doc had left him the night before. Adam stood from his chair and then covered his mouth, trying to suppress a morning yawn. I realized during all the confusion yesterday, I hadn’t even asked the doctor’s name. “My brother, Adam Cartwright,” I said.

“Adam,” he said, extending his hand. “Leland Benton. I was anxious to see if there’d been any change in your father since last night.”

“No change, Doc,” I said.

“Why don’t you let me be the judge?”

I glanced toward my brother and stepped away from the bed so the doctor would have room to work. I didn’t move far; I intended to know exactly what his plans for my father were and not find myself caught unaware by any strange, old-fashioned procedure he considered useful.

Several months after we’d lost Hoss, I talked with Dr. Martin, our family’s doctor since before I was born. He’d only had one negative comment about Dr. Sloan’s course of action. “Bloodletting,” he said, “is not something I’d recommend for any of my patients, Joe. Although it may not have hurt your brother’s chances for recovery, I don’t believe there was any benefit to the procedure.”

With that said, I wasn’t leaving Pa for any length of time like I’d been fool enough to do with Hoss. If worse came to worst, I could telegraph Paul Martin, and the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if it wouldn’t be wise to get a second opinion.

Adam took the opportunity to freshen up while I kept my eyes glued to the doctor as he checked Pa’s eyes and listened to his heart and pulse, thus reminding me of another time, another place, not so long ago. If this had to happen to Pa, why couldn’t it have happened at home? Why here in an unfamiliar place where we were at the mercy of strangers?

“Your father is breathing much easier this morning, Mr. Cartwright. Let’s order up some broth and see if we can get him to take some before I leave.”

“Now?”

“If you will, yes.”

I called down, using the intercom in the room, ordering chicken broth and a pot of coffee. Adam strolled out of my private bath and back into Pa’s room, looking much more alive and ready to start the day.

“Your turn. I’ll stay with Pa.”

“Thanks. Coffee’s on the way.”

I ran the razor over my face, something Adam had given up two years ago when he’d been hospitalized for burns and smoke inhalation after a fire, arson really, which destroyed his place of business and nearly killed him in the process. I’ll have to admit, though, I often wondered why he hadn’t grown a beard long before then. He looked quite the San Francisco gentleman with a touch of gray mixed with his raven-colored hair.

The lack of sleep would catch up with both of us some time today, but I figured between the two of us we would manage. I needed to get word to Tim back at the ranch of our change of plans, though I didn’t know yet when we’d return or how any of this recovery business worked. Tim Wilson was young but he was capable and suited for hard work, and I trusted him to do his best until I managed to get Pa back home.

The soup and coffee arrived and I was more than grateful for the latter. Doctor Benton showed us how to feed Pa. It was slow, tedious work, and it seemed more of Pa’s breakfast dribbled down his chin than made it into his mouth. The doc assured us this would become easier in time. I listened and I watched, but I was not assured, I remained skeptical.

When Dr. Benton had finished and Pa ate what he could, he tenderly dabbed the cloth napkin against my father’s chin. He was kind and gentle, and any doubts I may have had about this doctor being the right man for the job were probably frivolous and uncalled for. I just wish I knew for sure.

“I want you to try and get some food into your father every three to four hours and help him drink plenty of water in between. Can you do that, Joe?”

Even though I’d watched Benton feed Pa, I was nervous about trying it myself, thinking of everything that might go wrong during the process. So, I lied to the doc. “Yes.  Between my brother and me, I think we can manage.”

“Good. I’ll stop in tomorrow, but if you should need me anytime before tomorrow morning, just put in a call to the main office.”

“Thanks, Doctor. I appreciate all you’ve done.” I walked Doc Benton to the door, but I had a question I needed to ask. “Doc?” He hesitated and turned to face me. “When can my father be moved?”

“Moved? Where?”

“Nevada—our home is in Nevada.”

Benton let out a long, breathy sigh and shook his head. “I wouldn’t even consider it for at least a month. By the,n we’ll know a little more about his condition.”

“A month,” I muttered to myself. “Okay, thanks again, Doc.”

I shut the door and found Adam standing behind me. “A month, Adam. Did you hear the doc?”

“I did.”

“Do you think Benton’s the right man for the job? Do you think he’s the best there is?”

“He seems genuinely concerned—” Adam started, but I interrupted him before he could finish his thought.

“This is a big city, brother. There have to be more doctors than we can count, maybe specialists or—”

“I don’t know anything about him, Joe, but I will find out today. He seems to be a caring man though Pa may need more than just kindness to pull him through. He may need to be in a hospital, not here in this room.”

“A hospital? NO! No, Adam. Not a hospital. I’ve seen what happens in those places and I won’t—no, I won’t let him near a hospital.”

“Joe—be reasonable—”

“NO! Pa stays here with me. I won’t let anyone take him away from—from here.”

I crossed the room and looked out the window and down toward the street below. Was I being unreasonable? What if I made the wrong decision and Pa’s condition worsened? What if this nightmare had no end and this was my father’s fate? I didn’t know the answer, but neither did Adam. What would Pa want us to do? Whether it was lack of sleep or the trauma of the last few hours, I wasn’t sure. I broke down—and lost control. Tears slipped from my eyes.

Thinking back, I remembered my childhood and how frightened I’d be when my father had to leave the Ponderosa on business. I begged him not to go, begged him to send someone else. He always tried to explain why he must go, but to a scared little boy, it made no sense at all.

I’d grab hold of Pa’s pant leg, tears streaming down my face—begging—until one of my brothers would gently pull me away and hold me so my father could ride away. I needed my pa to stay with me—be with me. My fear was so desperate—so frantic—it took Adam and Hoss together to quiet me down and distract me. It might be a new batch of barn cats or allowing me to sit atop a stallion, Pa never would’ve agreed to if he’d been there.

Those feelings of loss were back. My father had already left me; only his flesh remained. At what cost would he survive? Could I even bear to look at him, to watch him wither and die?

I didn’t know Adam had crossed the room until his hand gripped my arm. I wiped the wetness from my face, but I kept facing the window.

“These things take time, Joe. It’s not over yet. Give him time.”

Five days passed. Adam had gone back to the Chronicle, knowing his job was at stake if he fell behind on his column, and since he was hired only a month ago, he was careful about taking too much time off, but he’d return this evening so I could have a break.

Adam had received nothing but glowing reports about Leland Benton. The doctor had just retired from thirty years in private practice in Oakland, the city across the bay. He took on this job at the Palace Hotel, thinking he and his wife might have more time to enjoy city life with its dinner theaters and concerts, and everything else a city life had to offer.

I sat with Pa day in and day out while Adam was working. There had been only slight improvements. Pa’s eyes could track now, in that he could see me and anything or anyone else in his line of vision. I’d given up the second suite and moved into the room with my father. The hotel staff brought up a cot I was able to set up during nighttime hours in order to sleep next to Pa.

Doctor Benton and I had become very well acquainted. He came every morning to check on my father, as did Adam. “Progressing nicely,” he’d say, although I didn’t see any significant change or improvement myself.

As much as I wanted to ask the ultimate question, I refrained. Adam had said in the beginning to give it time, but time for what—time to get used to the idea my father was dying, or time to get used to the idea Pa would remain in this frozen state forever? Which was the better of the two? I would ask God, but God and I weren’t on speaking terms any longer. If this was His will—then why? Why my father? Pa was a good man, a God-fearing man. He didn’t deserve this.

Pa had always told us that difficult times tended to make us stronger individuals. Well, this wasn’t one of those times. I wasn’t stronger.  I’d lost what measure of faith I’d ever had to begin with, and I cursed God in my dreams—I cursed God when I was wide awake.

But life went on, day after day—night after night.

After ten days confined to this stinkin’ room and after seeing no visible signs of improvement, I sat down next to his bed late one night. I’d trimmed the gas lights and spoke aloud of certain events I’d never discussed with my father, events I couldn’t keep hidden from a dying man.

I don’t know why these revelations—confessions more or less—came forth. They sure weren’t going to improve Pa’s situation; in fact, there was a chance they would only make things worse. Maybe I felt the need to clear my conscience if I was going to survive my father’s death and feel like any kind of man at all.

Pa was already privy to my failings—every sin or wrongful act I’d committed as a child, but there were two situations I’d never confided, two I still needed to deal with, two that continued to keep me awake at night, and I had to get them off my chest before it was too late.

I started with Adam. I told Pa how he’d riled me the last time I was here in San Francisco. I wasn’t sure how to put the feelings I had that night into words, knowing I could never divulge everything, but still, I needed to explain how and why I almost killed my brother.

“We argued, Pa, and you know me and Adam once we get riled. Adam prodded and my temper got the best of me. We—well, it went much farther than it should have.” I was stumbling for the right words, seeing how I planned not to reveal the reason, just my actions.

“It was a disagreement of sorts, and after taking so much from him and losing my temper completely, I turned on him—attacked him with my bare hands. I had a stranglehold, digging my thumbs in the small of his neck, cutting off his air until—” I had to stop. The memories were too clear, but the worst was out in the open. I’d confessed to nearly killing my brother.

“Adam never hated me for that night, and he never blamed me for the attack. Maybe it’s that we’re older now or maybe it’s just because we’re brothers. I’ll tell you, though, Pa, as much as I regret my actions, I’ll always be grateful to Adam for what he did for me.”

The second confession was harder still. I stood up and crossed the room. After pouring myself a brandy, then a second, I came back and sat down next to Pa. I hoped the amber firewater would give me the courage needed to make it through the next confession.

My father was so distraught when I brought Hoss home in a pine box that he didn’t ask questions. I didn’t volunteer information, but I would clear my conscience if I could figure out how to start.

“When Hoss died,” I said just above a whisper, “I wasn’t in the—I was—I had left the doctor’s house for a bath and a quick drink in the saloon.” God, was this necessary? What would it prove for Pa to know the truth? I leaned forward, resting my elbow on my knees, covering my face with my hands. “I’m so sorry, Pa. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t with Hoss when he died.”

Damn this was stupid, insane was a better word. I left my seat and stood next to the window. How could I tell Pa the rest? I pressed my hand against the glass, covering my reflection then turning slowly around, I saw my father lying there—no sound—no movement—no commanding voice telling me to sit back down and finish the story.

It was my own voice directing me back to Pa’s bedside. “I had more than just a drink, Pa,” I said after returning to my seat. Closing my eyes tightly, knowing it still had to be said, I released a heavy breath and when the words finally came, I nearly shouted them to my father. “I fell asleep in bed with a whore, Pa, a whore, and Hoss died alone.”

I wanted Pa to shout back at his half-witted son—tell me I was nothing but a burden to the family—tell me I was less of a man than either of my brothers. My breathing was ragged and after all was said and done, I realized what a complete waste of time my confessions had been. All Pa could do was lie there, motionless. He had no voice; he never would.

“Goddammit!” I said in frustration the following morning after nearly tipping the hot bowl of soup and scalding my father’s chest. After last night’s little tirade, after I’d spilled my guts to Pa, I felt even worse the next morning. It was a stupid thing for me to do. It had proved nothing at all.

I glanced at Pa, suddenly aware of what I’d just said out loud. “I—I’m sorry, Pa.” I needed to keep my anger in check. I was only making matters worse for me and for my father. There was no reaction. How could there be? I picked up the spoon. “Let’s try this again.”

Pa had always been the strong one, the believer, a man of faith. His faith carried him across the plains and through the mountains to a new land. I didn’t have the same type of faith Pa had. No amount of praying to a merciless God would begin to rectify what He let happen to my father.

I needed to get out of the room. The walls were closing in, but how? I didn’t dare leave Pa, Adam was doing the best he could, stopping by before and after work, but I needed to distance myself from Pa’s sickness—fresh air, maybe a ride through the countryside, anything other than sitting by Pa’s sickbed, watching, waiting for him to take that final breath.

I stood next to the bay window, gazing at passersby down below. It was raining, and the streets were a sea of black umbrellas, men, and women scrambling like ants one way or another. I’d give anything to be out of here and down there, even in the soaking rain.

Hours passed, and I heard a knock at the door. It would be the standard order of chicken soup, which arrived every three hours as the doctor had ordered. I was truly grateful for the staff at the Palace. Hop Sing was good in every way and most efficient when it came to caring for his family, but he couldn’t have done a better job than the people who worked at the Palace.

A thought came to mind, maybe a solution. Silas’ wife Delsey. If she could come by for a few hours a day, I could get out and maybe unearth a better attitude than the one I had now. I would talk to Adam tonight and see what he thought of the idea. Already, my spirits had lifted.

I laid the heavy, cloth napkin across Pa’s chest then sat on the edge of the bed with the bowl of soup. “Breakfast is here, Pa. You ready?”

I lifted the spoon to his lips. “Open wide.” In went the spoon. I dipped it in the bowl again. “Open—” And again, and again—

I set the bowl on the table. I could tell Pa was tracking my every move. “Looks like you need a shave. Should we try it?” I patted his shoulder. “Be right back.” What the heck? We might as well give it a shot.

After filling the bowl with warm water, I lathered Pa’s face, leaving the heavy cloth napkin in place to protect his clothing. God forbid I cut him in his current state. I scraped away the stubble, feeling his face with the tips of my fingers, gliding the razor ever so gently until I was satisfied. No movement, still slack on one side, but he didn’t seem to mind getting cleaned up. I wondered if he knew we’d missed Adam’s birthday dinner. I wondered if he even knew who I was.

“I’ll be right back.” There was a different look in Pa’s eyes. A thank you? Shoot, now I was seeing things that weren’t there, but before I stood up to leave, a single tear slipped from my father’s eye.

With my thumb, I reached up and dabbed at a small spot of lather I’d missed. A slow, deliberate movement; Pa reached for my hand. His chilled fingers circled my wrist, a gentle squeeze. I wrapped my hand around his. “Pa—”

The days that followed passed slowly, and after the day Pa moved his hand, I thought things would improve much faster than they had been but no, they did not. Three simple words I had learned to hate. “Give it time.” Words that grated on every nerve.

I contacted Delsey by wire and she was more than eager to help with my father’s care. I would pay her well, thinking I could finally repay the kindness she and Silas had shown me that night I had spent at his barbershop. But by the end of the first week when I held out her pay, she would accept none of it.

“Why won’t you take the money, Delsey? You’ve earned every penny.”

“I can’t take your money, Joe. Your father is ill, and I’m grateful I can be of help. This ain’t no payin’ job; it’s what God intends us to do for one another—help one another.”

“But you need the money. Please take it.”

She shook her head. “Silas and I do just fine, Joe. We’re happy together and we’ve got plenty of money to get by.” She slipped her wrap over her shoulders and picked up her tattered, old hat. I had a carriage waiting in front of the hotel to take her back home. “I will be seein’ ya tomorrow, Joe.”

“Nite, Delsey—and Delsey—thank you.”

I’d been scared to leave Pa alone with anyone besides me, but Delsey quickly shooed me out of the room. Said that’s why she was there and for me to get movin’ before she ran me out. “You sure you’re okay here by yourself?” I said.

“Your Pa and I’s gonna be just fine, now git.”

So I did. I only took a short walk around the block the first day she came, but I began to trust she was as capable as anyone, and I felt comfortable staying away longer from then on. The salty sea air did wonders for my attitude and I was able to enjoy tending to my father when I returned to our suite and told him of my adventures on the streets of San Francisco. Of course, I had to throw in a few little white lies to make my day sound more exciting, but I think he enjoyed the stories, lies or not.

Adam always came by for supper and on occasion, Delsey was kind enough to stay late. Those were the nights when Adam brought Kate along with him and the three of us would sit and enjoy each other’s company in one of the many dining rooms at the Palace.

Today, Pa moved his lips to form simple words. Only a guttural sound was produced but it was a start, and knowing Pa as I did, I knew he’d keep trying until he could speak any and every word the English language had to offer. He was a stubborn man, and that’s just what it would take to become the man he once was.

Dr. Benton showed me how to work with Pa to make those sounds in his throat that would eventually become words. It was a grueling process, and there were days Pa and I shouldn’t have been allowed in the same room. There were days I wished for my own suite, an escape. I’m quite certain Pa wished it too.

The right side of his body had been affected by the stroke, but ever since that day when Pa moved his right hand, I worked harder with him, moving fingers and exercising his arm. The doc also had me move his legs so they wouldn’t stiffen up too bad when he tried to walk again.

Feeding Pa had become easier too; soft vegetables and small pieces of chicken were added to the soup, hopefully making mealtime more enjoyable than before. But today, when I held the spoon to Pa’s lips, he refused to open his mouth. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Not hungry?” Pa blinked his eyes and stared into mine. I tried again and again, but he refused to open his mouth, then more blinking, telling me no. “I don’t know what you want, Pa.”

He was trying to tell me something, but I was at a loss. Delsey knocked on the door and, as usual, she didn’t wait for me to answer. As she crossed the room, I looked up, hoping she might have better luck feeding my father than I had.

“He won’t eat.” I set the bowl on his bedside table.

She stood over my father and shook her head. “Now, now, Mr. Cartwright. Are you givin’ this here boy a hard time?” She laid her shawl and her hat on one of the chairs and then looked back at me. “Maybe he sick and tired of the same food day in and day out. Maybe he don’t want no mo’ a dis chicken soup. Maybe he want somethin’ else.”

“You think?”

“How long this man been eatin’ chicken soup?”

“Weeks—”

“Well then—”

Why hadn’t I thought of that? I ordered a bowl of vegetable beef, and I think I might have detected a slight smile cross Pa’s face. “You were right, Delsey.” I took hold of her shoulders, leaned in, and kissed her cheek. “What would I ever do without you?”

“Sometimes Silas say the same thing, Joe. Das why a man always need a woman in the house.”

She scooted me out of the way and sat down to feed my father although Pa’s eyes remained on me and not on the food at hand. We needed to communicate better, and after I’d watched Pa blink his refusal to eat, I recalled something he and I tried long ago when a neighbor of ours fell into the same dire straits as Pa. I’d forgotten about old Mr. Wilson, but he could use his eyes to talk; in fact, we’d used that method to find his niece’s killer.

“I think Pa can talk,” I said to Delsey.

“What’s that you say?” She kept on feeding my father rather than bothering to look up at me.

“Pa can talk with his eyes, Delsey. One blink for yes and two blinks for no. He just told me he didn’t want any more chicken soup, didn’t he?”

“I guess so—”

She seemed skeptical but I knew this would work. I was excited to get started, and with Delsey’s help, we began working with Pa together. Pa still tired easily, but we’d mastered the art of the blink. Maybe it didn’t seem like much, but I was excited to tell Adam what the three of us had accomplished in one day.

Christmas was nearing, and we were stranded in San Francisco by Pa’s illness and had no chance of making it back home. In a way, it was as it should be; Pa and Adam and I together, but I’d vowed long ago that I would never spend another Christmas away from the Ponderosa. This year, though, it was not meant to be.

I was able to sit Pa up now, although still in bed, it was something he enjoyed and looked forward to. There were small improvements weekly, but still no words—no real communication except for his eyes. I’d found a pencil and paper and tried to steady the pencil in my father’s hand, but it only dropped onto the bed—the strength still wasn’t there.

I needed a night out and Delsey agreed to stay late. The woman was a saint. I couldn’t have done this without her, not in a million years. Our dinner reservation was scheduled for 7:00 p.m. so Jake Jacobs and Adam met me in the billiard room as soon as the two columnists could make it down to the hotel after work.

“I see why you like staying here, Joe,” Jake said after scanning the room filled with lovely young ladies.

I chuckled at Jake’s comment. “I sure haven’t spent enough time taking in the special amenities the Palace has to offer. I can say that for a fact, Jake.”

He leaned toward me, speaking just above a whisper. “How about now?”

I laughed again then shook my head. “No, I don’t think so.”

Adam raised his eyebrows at our guarded conversation. “May not be a bad idea, little brother.”

“What?”

“You know what I mean; a stress reliever of sorts.”

“Who says I’m stressed?” Adam and Jake both rolled their eyes and laughed at my remark. “I’m fine.” I wasn’t naïve to their intentions; I understood what they thought I may want or need and I wondered if maybe it would relieve some of the monotony, and yes, I suppose stress I felt over tending Pa.

A young lady came to refresh our drinks, but she lingered a little longer with me, making sure I was aware, and perhaps responsive to her gifted assets. As she sashayed away, turning slightly to look back over her shoulder, she winked at me and then slowly fashioned her lips into a pout. I lifted my glass to salute her then took a prolonged drink of my brandy. I glanced between Adam and Jake. “Maybe you two have something after all.”

The laughter was a bit more gregarious this time, and lucky for me, or not as the case may be, our table was ready. While carrying my drink with me, the three of us walked into the dining room together. Had I been a fool to pass up such a delicious creature just to sit and have dinner with two men? Yes—there was no doubt in my mind. I was a fool.

My mind strayed during dinner with Adam and Jake as I recalled the night I finally, should I say, relieved the stress from years of holding back—years of fear and reluctance to be with a woman. It had not been the plan at all, although I’m grateful for the young lady who changed my world and made things right again.

I’d only stopped in the saloon for a quick beer, maybe two, when I overheard a couple of loudmouths, carrying on about how the Cartwrights bought their way to the top by bribing those in charge of granting certain lumber and mining contracts. I let the comment go; knowing it wasn’t worth the fight, and besides, I was alone in the bar and the odds weren’t exactly in my favor.

But the slurs against my family continued, and knowing I should be smart and just walk away, leaving the two drunken men to their own little party, I turned, leaned back against the bar, and faced them. “Are you about finished?” I said

“We’re just gettin’ started, Cartwright. Wanna make somethin’ of it?”

“I think enough’s been said already.” I turned back around, deciding not to make a big deal, then tilted my glass and finished the last of my beer. “See ya, Sam,” I said before heading for the batwing doors.

The sudden crash against the back of my shoulder was their empty whiskey bottle, making me stumble forward, and before I could completely right myself, they were both on top of me, grabbing a handful of hair and slamming my head against the saloon floor. They were drunk, and I wasn’t and within minutes, I’d given each of them everything they deserved. They both lay prone on the floor when the sheriff walked through the doorway and started asking questions.

Her name was Maria, a new girl at the Silver Dollar, and she was the one who spoke up first and explained everything she’d seen to the sheriff. Roy hauled the men to their feet and escorted them out of the saloon and to jail to sleep it off.

“Thanks,” I said, still catching my breath while leaning my aching body against the bar. Maybe I was getting too old for these saloon fights. There was a time I would have shrugged it off and thought nothing of a bruise or two, but I felt each one of them this time.

“I only told what I saw, Mister.”

“Name’s Joe.”

“Maria.”

“Maria—I believe I owe you a drink.”

We found a table in the back of the saloon, and while I poured us each a glass of whiskey, Maria sat quietly beside me. There was a different look about her than most saloon girls, maybe sadness, maybe loneliness. I wasn’t sure, but she didn’t belong in a place like this. I found myself wanting to comfort her, take her out of this place, but that wasn’t my choice, it was hers.

We talked without constraints until our bottle was nearly finished. I knew I should leave and ride home, but I was reluctant to leave the girl behind. We’d enjoyed each other’s company too much for me to just walk away, not knowing if or when I might see her again.

“Joe?” Jake said, interrupting my thoughts. “Anyone home in there?”

“What? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking of—”

“Of what, little brother?”

“Nothing,” I said, smiling. “Nothing worth talking about.”

“I’ll bet you 8-5 he was thinking of some lady friend,” Jake said, leaning in toward my brother.

I laughed off their joking and kidding around. I was admitting nothing—not now, not ever. Not to these two.

“Well, I need to get home,” Adam said.

“I best let Delsey go too. It’s getting late.” We stood from the table and shook hands. “Same time next week?” I said to Jake.

“Sounds good, that’s if you can keep your mind on dinner next time.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Jake had been a friend to me and a good friend to Adam. I didn’t want to lose his respect and I suppose my reminiscing was rude at that. I watched the two of them leave together, still talking, still laughing, as I walked across the Grand Court to the rising room and upstairs to Pa and Delsey.

When I entered the suite, I found Delsey sleeping in the chair next to Pa’s bed. Gently, I touched her shoulder and she woke with a start. “I’m sorry I’m so late, Delsey. Do you want to just stay over?”

“No, Joe. I best be on my way.”

“Okay then, I’ve already called for a cab.”

She picked up her hat and cape. “See you in the morning,” she said.

“Again, I’m sorry for the late hour,” I said, walking her to the door.

“No bother. Nite, Joe.”

I locked the door and glanced back at Pa, who’d slept through our entire conversation. I pulled the covers up over his shoulders and whispered goodnight before I set up my cot across the room. After I crawled under my blanket and rested my head on the pillow, my mind revisited another time, another bed, Maria’s.

I left the empty bottle on the table and followed Maria up the stairs. She unlocked her door, and even though we’d sat and drank whiskey well into the night, I was undoubtedly aware of what I was doing—what treasured gift I hungered to enjoy if I could manage to see it through.

I had expressed the fears I’d carried for years to Adam the last time I was in San Francisco—one of them, which had yet to be resolved, was my fear of being with a woman, being close, being intimate. Somehow, tonight, my fear had subsided, and whether it was Maria and her soft voice or maybe her gentle ways, I wasn’t sure. But as we climbed the stairs, I felt myself growing nervous and almost afraid; after all, I was above a saloon in Virginia City, a place I called home, a place where I didn’t want to fail as a man.

We stood just inside her drab little room when I lifted her chin with my fingers until her painted lips met mine. She was soft and warm; her kiss was almost tentative and shy, and as I wrapped my arms around her I felt her shiver, even as she pulled me closer. I lifted her and I carried her in my arms across the room.

I made love to the sensual woman, not simply once, but twice and once again at dawn. Her gentle movements captivated me. The softness of her breasts, the subtle curves of her body lying close to mine. Tracing the tips of her fingers along the length of my body, seeking pleasure with her velvety touch, she brought back the special part of life—a dire need for the unattainable I thought had been destroyed forever. Joe Cartwright was back.

I woke to slips of daylight, peeking in from either side of the heavy drapes in my father’s suite. I smiled at the memory of Maria, but the dream had vanished and I was quickly brought back to reality. My father was ill and Maria was gone.

Neither Adam nor I had bothered to shop for Christmas presents; besides, what could we possibly want when hotel employees took care of our every need? Adam and I lifted Pa to a sitting position and he was able to hold his own while I slipped his arms through his dressing gown and tied it at his waist. We eased him to his feet and had him walk from the bed to a chair so we could eat Christmas dinner together.

A waiter pushed a cart with three turkey dinners into our room, and we were set. I thanked and tipped the young man and sat back down with Pa and Adam. I started to reach over to cut my father’s meat when he grunted his displeasure. He nodded to Adam and then folded his hands in his lap. My brother caught on before I did and began saying grace as Pa had always done in the past.

When I reached over a second time to cut my father’s turkey, he grunted once again. “Okay—” I said, pulling my knife a fork away. He picked up the fork easily enough, and Adam and I watched, each of us holding our breath, as Pa struggled to pick up the knife with his damaged hand. The task was finally accomplished and he struggled but cut through the tender piece of meat.

While sitting in the chair next to my father, I reached down for my napkin and for some strange reason, I remembered a time when I was a small boy, sitting next to Pa in church and the preacher quoted a verse I didn’t understand at the time.

Lazarus, come forth.

And he that was dead came forth, bound hand and foot with graveclothes—

 I couldn’t quite recall the next part, something about his face being covered with a napkin. Maybe it made sense to some, but it made me giggle. Pa’s hand gently touched my knee and I quieted quickly.

Jesus saith unto them, lose him and let him go.

Risen from the dead? Well, not quite, but today, my father was back among the living, even if just for a short time on this special day. Adam and I looked on as Pa took control, experiencing what it felt like to be a man once again. Maybe He was watching and maybe He was helping Pa overcome the debilitating circumstances, thus reminding us all to give thanks on Christmas day.

Pa was alive, and with one small step at a time, I realized there would be a future, a future that included my father as he slowly progressed from this unfortunate time in his life and back to the world he loved so much.

We celebrated the New Year in the suite. Lobster bisque for Pa. Steak and lobster for Adam and me. “Next year, Pa,” I said. But our celebration bottomed out the next day when we received a wire from Tim Wilson. Trouble at the mine.

I couldn’t leave Pa alone, and Adam couldn’t leave the city with his new job at the paper. The doc said Pa was well enough to travel, but I was hesitant during the winter months. The train was a comfortable way to go, and there wasn’t much chance of breaking down, but I was afraid to be alone with Pa without a doctor if something went wrong.

Adam and I talked it over and he said it was my decision whether to stay another couple of months or to go back to the ranch. Maybe it was time to ask Pa what he wanted. He was getting out of bed on his own and was able to sit in a chair for part of the day. The doc had brought him a cane to steady himself, and he repeatedly pushed me away if I tried to help. Pa was a stubborn man, and if he could talk, he’d have plenty to say about me hovering too closely.

“Are you ready to go home?” I said as we enjoyed the warmth of the fire. Nights were chilly, and I wanted to make Pa comfortable, but he’d often slap my hand away. He tried to form the word home, and he was close, but there was no sound. He nodded his head instead. “If you’re sure, I’ll make reservations tomorrow.” He nodded again.

Delsey had been a godsend, and I’d miss her terribly, but it was time to say goodbye. I offered her pay for all the work she’d done during the long, endless days with my father and again, she refused to take a penny.

It was our last evening together, and Adam showed up at our suite straight after work. He’d picked up Kate on his way and we would all have dinner with Pa. He greeted Pa first and then turned to me. “There is a package waiting for you downstairs, Joe.”

“A package? For me?”

“That’s what the man at the front desk told me to tell you. Go on down and pick it up,” he said. “Kate and I’ll stay with Pa.”

“Okay—” I was confused. I hadn’t ordered anything, and I couldn’t imagine who’d send a package to me, but it was thrilling all the same. In my excitement, I took the stairs rather than waiting for one of the rising rooms then walked across the Grand Court to the front desk. The clerk behind the counter handed me a sealed envelope. “This is it?”

“Yes, sir. May I help you with anything else, sir?”

“No, that’s fine. Thank you.” I tore the envelope open, all the time wondering why the clerk couldn’t have given the letter to Adam to bring up to the— “Oh—”

A Belated Gift. Merry Christmas, Joe.

Look toward the Billiard Room—enjoy!

Sincerely, Adam

I scanned the room, finding the door to the Billiard Room, and there she stood, her hand raised in front of her chest and a crooked finger motioning me to her—a most beautiful sight indeed. Tucking the letter inside my jacket pocket, I started forward.

She was elegantly dressed, not scantily for a quick romp in one of the private rooms, but finer than any other woman making her way through the Grand Court. Her navy-colored gown with lace cuffs and a square neckline was, to say the least, striking. The dress fit snugly, accentuating her slim waist and trailing behind her, giving the impression of a woman of means—a beautiful woman, who’d be classified as the belle of the ball.

“I’m Joe Cartwright.”

“My name’s Lilly,” she said softly.

“I’m not dressed for the occasion,” I said with an awkward smile.

“Not to worry, Mr. Cartwright. I have just what you need if you’ll please follow me.”

“Call me Joe.”

After a fine dining experience, Lilly pulled out two tickets to a play—a comedy my brother thought I might like. I’d never laughed so hard at the antics on stage and Lilly was a joy to be with, paid for or not.

I tried not to think of how much Hoss would have enjoyed the performance. I remembered back to a rather racy show the three of us had attended long ago in Virginia City with Miss Adah Issacs Menken dressed in nude tights. Hoss could barely contain himself. He’d even tried to be the hero and jump down from a balcony seat to save the damsel in distress.

Those were the days, days without a care in the world, and even knowing what my father would say after finding we’d sneaked out of the house to see a show of that nature, was worth every minute of fun I had with my brothers that night.

That was years before my world was turned upside down and spent eight years of my life in hell. I’d put the memories and fears from that time behind me thanks to Adam and his words of wisdom—words I needed to hear, and still remember to this day.

When I’d lost control and attacked him that night nearly two years ago, when I saw the bruises circling his neck the following morning, when he begged me to talk to Pa about the nightmare I’d endured, I said no—a definite no.

When he begged me to talk to him instead, I refused, telling him I’d said more than I’d ever planned in the first place, but he wouldn’t let it go. He pushed and he pushed until I admitted every one of my fears, and after that night, I was able to turn my life around. I can’t say I was thrilled at the time, but I will always be grateful for the unrelenting and determined manner he took with me, knowing just how to break me down and give me the tools to heal after so many years of hate and condemnation.

We stayed up most of the night. Adam talked; I talked. I listed my fears—fear of intimacy, fear of violence, and fear of never letting go of the past. He reassured me that I’d punished myself long enough for something that was never my fault. Finally, something clicked. His relentless approach had worked, and he’d kept a promise he’d made to my mama a long time ago. He took care of me when I needed him most.

A gentle squeeze of my hand brought me back from my musings, and I smiled at the lovely woman beside me. I’m sure Adam had great plans of relieving the stress of the past few weeks when the play was over, but tonight, I was happy to just feel human again; to be out with a beautiful lady and enjoy the evening. The stress relieving I’d save for another time.

I’d booked a private car for the trip home. We would board the train in San Francisco, depart in Truckee, and then take the short line into Virginia City. I’d wired Tim Wilson to come with the surrey to pick us up when we arrived. He hadn’t mentioned any more about the mine in his telegram—just said he’d be there waiting for us when we pulled in.

Goodbyes were always hard and this one was no different. Adam helped me get Pa situated onboard the train and into our private quarters. When he knelt in front of my father, Pa took Adam’s hands in his own and looked straight into my brother’s eyes. “A-dam—”

The word was only understood by my brother and me, but it was Pa’s first real word, and I knew there’d be more to come. My eyes burned with tears. I’m sure Adam’s did too, even though he’d never admit to such, or let anyone know exactly how happy he felt.

“I’ll visit this summer, Pa,” he said after clearing his throat. “You take care and try to keep Little Joe out of trouble if at all possible.”

A slow smile crossed Pa’s face as he glanced up at me and then looked back down at my brother. “Home,” he said, slowly and deliberately.

“Home,” Adam repeated.

The End
12-2011

The next and last story in this series: – Because We’re Brothers #5

• Reference to Season 4 – Hayburner
• Reference to Season 1 – The Magnificent Adah
• Reference to Season 4 – Thunder Man