Molly #2

~Book 2~

by jfclover

Could wind drive a man insane?  I began to wonder.  We’d used heavy wool scarves; we’d tied our hats to our heads as wind pelted our faces with bits of ice, much like the grit an untamed bronc stirs up on a hot summer day.  Even Hoss, who could rightly predict most any kind of weather hadn’t seen this one coming, but this storm—born in the high Sierras— could cost us our lives if we didn’t act fast.

“We best find shelter soon, Joseph.” 

Though I could barely hear my brother’s voice, I waved my hand against the blowing snow and steered Cooch in closer to Chubby.  Snow was piling up around us, but the wind was our enemy.  Strong gusts cut like a knife; even through layers of clothing, we wouldn’t be protected for long.  Hoss was right.  We didn’t have much time.

Line shacks were built ten miles apart, circling the perimeter of the Ponderosa, but in the event of a whiteout, it was difficult to keep our bearings or figure out simple directions.  I counted on Hoss to know the way, but it was another hour before a cabin appeared against the all-white background of heavily drifted snow.

“Get yourself inside and start a fire,” Hoss said.  “I’ll stable the horses.”

“Sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.  Get moving.”

Though I hated leaving my brother outside, the sooner I started a fire, the better off we’d be.  Next to the stove sat a small box of kindling, but I’d have to head back out for decent-sized logs real soon.  I stripped off my gloves and dug matches from my coat pocket.  At times, weary travelers would use our shacks and leave nothing behind but bare bones.  Luckily, this cabin was fully stocked.  We could ride out the storm; there were enough supplies to hold us for a time.  Flames began to flicker inside the small, cast-iron stove, but before I could head back out, Hoss walked through the door carrying an armful of wood for the fire.

“Dug these out from the bottom of the pile.  Should be fairly dry,” he said.

“The horses okay?”

“They’re out of the wind in the lean-to.  I brung in the saddlebags.”

“I’ll get the saddles,” I said. 

“Sit tight.  I’ll get ‘em.  You find any coffee?”

“Yep.”

Hoss walked toward the door, then turned and asked the obvious question.  “Any food?”

“Yep.”

“Hotdiggity!”

It didn’t take much to put a smile on my brother’s face.  Coffee and a hot meal, even if it was beans and jerky, it usually did the trick.  Hop Sing had been out of venison, and we’d taken the weekend to hunt.  Deer or elk, it didn’t really matter.  It was good to get away from the everyday grind, but the sudden storm had put an end to our plans, and it looked like we’d return home empty-handed. 

The wildlife hadn’t been alerted to the freak storm either.  They’d yet to move to lower ground, and, like fools, Hoss and I kept climbing higher into the mountains searching for prey.  Just this morning, birds sang and little critters skittered across our path, but now, an early winter storm had set in with a vengeance. 

Hoss plopped both saddles on the cabin floor, brushed the snow from the shoulders of his coat and stamped his feet.  I picked up a wooden bucket and started out the door.

“Give it here,” he said.

“Fine.” 

I needed water to make coffee and soak the beans so we could eat sometime later today.  I’d have to melt snow, and a creek was nowhere in sight.  Minutes later, Hoss sat the full bucket next to the stove and pulled off his hat and gloves.

“There was a ring around the moon last night, Joseph.”

“Oh yeah?  And you’re telling me this because …”

“’Cause it was a clear sign.”

“A clear sign?”

“Ain’t I taught you nothin’ over the years?”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

While Hoss shed his heavy coat, I finished packing snow into the coffee pot, and I scooped out a handful of beans and threw them into a snowy-filled pot.  I waited for my brother’s explanation.

“A ring around the moon means a storm’s on its way.”

“A storm?” 

“Yes, Joseph.  I shoulda known what was coming.”

“We had other things on our minds, Hoss.  Like trying to find deer tracks, not worrying about the moon.”

“Yeah, but—dadburnit, Joe.  I got us into this mess, and I’ll get us out.”

“Aw, cut it out, Hoss.  It’s no one’s fault.  Our situation changed, but you’re not to blame.  It’s not what we bargained for, that’s all.  We had good intentions, didn’t we?  A bright, sunny day turned into hell on earth, but we’re survivors, right?  Tomorrow—well, maybe not tomorrow, but in a couple of days, we’ll make our way back down the mountain.  For now, we make the best of a lousy situation.  Things could be worse, you know.”

“How’d you figure that?”

“We could be dead.  We could’ve frozen to death out there, and no one would be the wiser till spring thaw.”

“That’s one way out.”

It was a morbid thought, but generally, my moods shifted from hour to hour depending on where my mind took me.  Hoss figured he was to blame for our situation.  I thought he was wrong.  He’d done his best, and his best was good enough for me.

Often, I thought about Molly, and often, I wondered if my best had been good enough for her.  Just as I’d tried to console my brother, my father had done the same for me.  Still, I couldn’t put my mind at ease.

We spent four days holed up in the line shack.  A deck of cards kept us from going completely stir-crazy, but when we figured it was safe to start home, I was the first one out the door.  As the crow flies, we were less than five miles from the house, but we could have been a thousand for all the good it had done us this past week. 

We had lots of time on our hands, and time never bodes well when a man’s trying not to think.  Molly was forefront in my mind; my thoughts about her well-being never subsided while we were trapped inside the cabin.  Hoss and I talked some about her and the new parents I’d placed her with, but mostly, I spent time wondering if I’d done right by her; questions haunted me from morning till night.  Though I may never make a complete break, I hoped Molly had settled in and was enjoying her new home.  That’s all I ever hoped for.

We’d been home a week.  Hoss was eating his favorite foods, and I was sleeping in late in my own soft bed.  Life was good; life was back to normal.  Tears welled in Pa’s eyes when we rode up in the yard, safe and sound.  There’d been nothing he could do but wait patiently for our return, but in no time, it was business as usual, only my mind wasn’t on ranch business.  My thoughts still centered on Molly.

She’d been living with William and Martha Watson for two months.  I’d promised her I’d visit, but that was before I promised Watson I wouldn’t.  Molly didn’t know anything about the private conversation he’d had with me only minutes before he and his wife drove her away from the Ponderosa to her new home, and reluctantly, I’d done as he asked.

I woke early the following morning.  I dressed, shaved, and was sitting at the dining room table when Pa came down the stairs.  I had to set my mind straight.  My father wouldn’t be happy with my decision, but I needed to ride to Carson—today.  I had to make sure all was well, and Molly was settling into her new life.  

“Goodness, what’s this all about?”  Pa asked, after seeing me awake and dressed early that morning.  “Something going on I should know about?”

“Can’t a man wake up on time for a change?”

“Well—” Pa shrugged his shoulders, but with an exaggerated look of bewilderment on his face, he said, “I guess miracles happen.”

“Funny, Pa, real funny.  Where’s Hoss?”

“I heard him moving around up there.  I’m sure he’ll be down in a minute or two.  You need him for something?”

“No.  Just asking.”

“Thanks, Hop Sing,” Pa said as the Chinaman filled his cup and refilled mine with hot coffee.

“I’m riding over to Carson this morning.”

“Carson?  Why?”

I reached for the cream and sugar.

“I need to see for myself.”

“See what, Son?”

“I need to make sure Molly’s okay.  It’s been two months, Pa.  No letters from her or the Watsons letting us know how things are going.  Don’t you think that’s a bit strange?”

“Not really.  I think it’s perfectly natural.  Molly is their daughter now.  You have to realize that, Joseph.  You’ve given up your rights as her guardian.”

“Have I given up my right to care?”

“Joe, I know this is hard, but isn’t it for the best?  You remember what William said to you that night.  He wanted a clean break.”

I remembered every word William Watson had said.

“After what you told me this morning about Molly’s unpleasant past, I think it best that you and your family keep your distance from our new daughter.  Anyone can see how the girl has taken to you.  She seems more attached than she should be.  I wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea.”

Hoss had lumbered down the stairs in the middle of Pa’s and my conversation.  He didn’t interrupt; he sat down quietly at the table and kept his mouth shut until our discussion ended.

“Tell me this, Little Brother.  What do you expect to gain from tussling with old man Watson?”

“First off, I don’t plan to tussle with anyone, and secondly, don’t I have a right to stop in and visit after all this time has passed?”

“I think Pa’s right this time, Little Joe.  You’re just asking for trouble.”

“That’s your opinion, and you’re welcome to it, but I disagree.”  I stood from the table.  “I’ll be back this afternoon, Pa.”

“Wait—won’t you have breakfast before you go?”

“I’m not hungry.  I’ll grab a bite in Carson later.”

“Why don’t I ride along with you, Little Joe?  We’ll make up a reason we had to be in town.  You can do without me today, can’t ya, Pa?”

“That’s a wonderful idea, Son.  Both of you take the day off.  Ride to Carson, visit with Molly, then stay and have a couple of beers, play a little poker, relax, and have a good time.” 

“I don’t need a keeper, Pa.”

“Come on, Joe.  We’ll make a day of it.”

“Like our hunting trip last weekend?”  I smiled at my brother, always the peacekeeper, and besides, how could I refuse Pa’s offer of an entire day off? 

“Let’s not bring that up, Joseph.  I nearly starved to death, living on jerky and suffering through your attempt at adding flavor to beans.”

I smiled at Hoss, but I also considered the underlying meaning of Pa’s suggestion of a little private time away from the Ponderosa.  Not that he’d ever condone such inappropriate behavior from his sons, but what Pa didn’t hear or see never happened.  Cards, excessive drinking, and loose women didn’t bode well in Pa’s eyes, but he wasn’t going to completely dismiss a man’s wants and needs.

~~

William and Martha Watson owned a large Victorian home.  Plans to fill their house with children hadn’t been part of God’s plan.  They hadn’t been a young couple starting out, and Martha had never been able to conceive.  Her husband made a more than decent living, but he worked long hours, and with no children to care for, Martha volunteered outside the home wherever children were involved.  The church and the newly built orphanage had become her local haunts.

Martha was as giddy as a schoolgirl when her husband told her about a fifteen-year-old orphan named Molly who needed a home, and that Ben Cartwright had considered the two of them his first choice.  He’d said Joe had taken her in as his ward a few months ago, but they all thought the girl needed a woman’s touch before she entered society.

Having Molly to fuss over, to dress in fine clothes and show the world she had a child of her own, helped Martha find her place in society.  Molly was a gift she’d always dreamed of, and now, with her new daughter by her side, she was the talk of the town.  She spoke with pride, flaunting the young girl in front of bluenoses who’d never actually snubbed her, but her attitude toward life had changed now that she was a mother of such a lovely daughter, and she became part of a community she’d never been allowed to enter before.

Martha had noticed subtle changes in William since Molly had settled into their home.  He seemed to be annoyed by her constant fussing and urged her to do more outside the home and leave the poor girl alone.  “Quit doting on the child every minute of the day,” he’d said on more than one occasion.  Although she kept up with her endless volunteer work, she always made time for her husband and daughter; too much time, according to her husband.

Their customary roles had given way to new routines.  William had become very protective of Molly.  He began leaving his home and office earlier in the day to walk Molly the few short blocks to and from school.  Before she’d come into their lives, William had never paid much attention to time or the restraints of a clock chiming the current hour.  He’d been dedicated to his business and his financial affairs while Martha worked around his schedule, making sure their home was clean and perfect, the linens on the beds were fresh, and there was a hot meal ready and waiting when he walked through the front door each evening.

Thinking she’d been the only one who’d so desperately wanted a child, Martha was delighted with her husband’s newfound enthusiasm.  William had even found time to take their new daughter fishing, more of a workingman’s sport he’d never given time or energy to before.  More and more, her husband seemed to plan his life around their new daughter, and she could only hope his thoughtful behavior would last a lifetime.

Martha rushed down the stairs, wondering who could possibly have come to call.  She wasn’t expecting visitors, so, with Cookie busy in the kitchen all day, she’d found herself cleaning and aligning the assortment of china figurines she’d displayed inside a cherry cabinet with beveled glass doors in the corner of Molly’s bedroom.

She was delighted when she opened the front door to find Joe and Hoss Cartwright standing on her porch.  Though both men seemed a bit nervous, as each toyed with the brim of his hat, she welcomed them wholeheartedly.

“Come in, come in. It’s been so long since we’ve seen you boys.  Have you come to visit Molly?”

“Hoss and I had some business to tend to, and I thought since we were in town, we’d stop in and say hello to you and Mr. Watson and see how Molly was getting on.”

“Well,” Martha said, “My husband and Molly aren’t here right now.  Molly’s in school, and William always makes sure she arrives there safely before he heads to the office.  I’m sure she’s kept you well informed with all her letter writing.  Sometimes I have to help with her spelling and such, but she’s catching on so quickly.  William is always happy to post her letters on his way to the office.”

“That’s very generous of him, ma’am,” Hoss said quickly.

“Then,” Martha continued, “William is right there waiting for our daughter at three o’clock so he can walk her home from school.  He sure is taken with her; he can’t deny that girl a thing.”

“Is there a good time we could stop back by just to say hello?  I assure you we wouldn’t stay long.”

“Of course you may—in fact, why don’t the two of you come back tonight for dinner.  Cookie will make your favorite, Hoss, roast pork, if I let her know in time.  Molly will be so excited to see you both.  She has mentioned you a few times, Joe, but William has tried to make the break official, and I regret to say he has refused her requests to visit the Ponderosa, which I guess is only natural for such a proud father.”

Hoss’ grin filled his face.  “Whacha think, Joe?  I’d sure hate to pass up an invitation for a fine supper.”

“Are you sure about dinner, Mrs. Watson?  It’s pretty short notice.”

“Of course I’m sure, Joseph.  Now you boys go take care of your business matters and be back here promptly at six o’clock for cocktails and dinner.”

~~

“You better slow down on them beers, little brother.  We got a long day ahead of us ’fore suppertime.”

“Yeah, you’re right.  I guess I’m just a little nervous about tonight.”

“Why?  Sounds to me like that little gal’s settled in right nice.”

“Yeah, it sounds that way, but how do you explain the letters?  They were never sent, Hoss.  I haven’t received any letters.”

“Hmm, that’s a caution, ain’t it?”

“It’s more than a caution, big brother.  Molly’s letters were never sent.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Damn right.  That’s what I know.”

Hoss ran his finger over the rim of his mug.  “Why do you think that is, Joe?”

“I don’t know, and by the way, where do you go fishing around here?”

“Beats me, but I’ll bet Molly’s the best little fisherman—or little fisher gal—in all of Carson City.”

Always an answer but never the right answer.  I knew now that William had never mentioned our private conversation to his wife.  All this time, she’d been expecting us to visit.  I’m sure Molly had too, and I’d been foolish to heed Watson’s thoughtless demands.

“We can’t sit in this saloon all day long, big brother.  We’ve got a few hours to kill; anything else you’d rather do?”

“I thought you was gonna play some poker or—you know.”

“No, not today, Hoss.  Can’t say I’m in the mood for—you know.”

~~

“What do you mean you invited those two to dinner?”  William ranted angrily.  He was completely unnerved at the prospect of having the Cartwright brothers sit down at his dinner table.  He’d told them, Joe specifically, to stay away from the girl, and he’d meant it.  Why were they defying his direct orders now?

Martha had seen Molly’s eyes light up when she’d first mentioned that Joe and Hoss had stopped by the house to visit.  She’d worked hard all day helping Cookie prepare a special supper and, for reasons she couldn’t imagine, her husband had uncharacteristically raised his voice in protest.

The idea of those two boys marching into his home and confusing his daughter, just when she was beginning to settle in and become part of their family, disturbed William to no end.  He tried to think of a way to correct Martha’s obvious mistake, but what could he possibly do?  Joe and Hoss would be forcing their way into his home in a couple of hours, and there was no way to prevent their unwanted arrival.

In the beginning, Molly’s nonstop discussions about Joe Cartwright had gotten on his nerves, and it seemed as though she had finally given up her constant chatter over how Joe did this and Joe did that.  But now, with this sudden intrusion into their private lives, would he be forced to begin again, reprogramming her to fit his way of life and not life on the Ponderosa?

Martha rested her hand on Molly’s shoulder and asked her daughter to go on upstairs and clean up.  “Make sure you put on one of your nicer dresses before our guests arrive.” 

After Molly was out of earshot, Martha turned to her husband. 

“I don’t understand why you’re upset, William.  The boys came by, said they had business in town, and I invited them for dinner.  Why is that such a problem?”

With his hands planted firmly on his hips, William paced back and forth in front of his wife.  Why did he always have to explain things to Martha?  After all these years together, had she suddenly become daft in her thinking?  Did she not realize he liked his house and his life in order, and that he was the decision maker, not her?

“I just don’t want Joseph Cartwright coming in and destroying all the work we’ve put in with Molly, trying to make this her new home.  Why can’t you understand that, Martha?”

“I’m sorry.  I guess I wasn’t thinking in those terms.”

William softened his tone.  He leaned in and kissed his wife on the cheek.  Maybe his exaggerated behavior had been uncalled for.  “I’m sorry, and I apologize, sweetheart.  I overreacted; I’m not sure what got into me tonight.  What time are the Cartwright boys coming?”

“Six o’clock.” 

Although Martha had been deeply puzzled by her husband’s sudden outburst, she wouldn’t ask questions, but something was tearing at him, and so far, he hadn’t felt comfortable discussing the matter with her.  She assumed his problems were work-related, and whatever was distracting him had brought on this excessive amount of tension and stress to a normally gentle-minded man.

Together, she and William had weathered occasional storms brought about by her husband’s determination to make his business successful.  With his lucrative dealings and his passion for standing tall in the community as one of Nevada’s leading businessmen, he’d worked hard all his life to accomplish both tasks.  During their many years of marriage, they’d survived numerous difficulties, but they’d become stronger partners because of such troubles.  Tomorrow she would speak to her husband and see if she could get him to open up, but tonight they had guests coming, and there were still things to be done before Joe and Hoss arrived. 

Molly slipped off her school dress as she’d been instructed by Martha and hung it up neatly in her wardrobe.  She sorted through all the lace-trimmed, frilly dresses, all of which Martha had her seamstress make specifically for her over the past few weeks.  The simple dresses she loved, the dresses Joe had bought her, had all been stuffed back inside the trunk and donated to the orphanage, the extension of Martha’s church. 

“First impressions, Dear.”  Molly cringed every time Martha repeated those words, even though the woman meant well; she was just too much.  “You’re a young lady now, coming of age, and first impressions make all the difference.”

Molly sat on the edge of her bed and removed her white stockings for black dinner stockings, as though anyone would notice under her skirt and layers of crinoline.  That’s all she seemed to do anymore was dress for this and dress for that.  But for Joe, she’d wear her finest and, remembering Mr. Cartwright’s words the night she left the Ponderosa, she’d do her best to make Joe proud.  Hearing a tap on her bedroom door, the door swung open before she could answer.

“May I have a word?”

Embarrassed by her state of undress, she grabbed her dinner dress and held it up in front of her thin, cotton camisole.  And, out of respect, she stood when spoken to but remained silent.  She stared at the intruder, but she wouldn’t let him know how uncomfortable he’d made her feel or how strange his expression had become when he only stared without saying a word.

“My apologies.  I—I thought you’d be dressed by now.”

Molly dropped her eyes; she tightened her hold on the formal dress.  Often, her father caught her off guard with improper remarks or the way he’d hold her arm when he walked her to and from school.  It didn’t feel comfortable, but what did she really know about mothers and fathers, or what was supposed to feel comfortable?

“You understand how to conduct yourself this evening, am I correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Molly.”

“Yes, sir.” 

“I’d be most appreciative if you’d behave properly in front of our guests.” 

“Yes, sir.”

“We best be heading out, Joe.”

We’d spent the better part of the afternoon at McMurphy’s Tavern, where I usually came to visit Sally Ann whenever I made my way down to Carson.  Today was her day off, and I was relieved I wouldn’t have to make small talk or explain the reason my brother and I were in town. 

Hoss was an easy man to please.  He’d kicked back in his chair, sipping beer all afternoon, and anyone who walked through the batwing doors became his entertainment.  I wasn’t as easily amused, and I’d picked up a deck of cards from the bartender, then played enough games of solitaire to last me a lifetime. 

“I guess you’re right, Hoss.  It’s probably time to go.”  I stood and stretched out my back; I’d sat in one position too long.  “You know, it wouldn’t hurt if we stopped over at the mercantile and got ourselves new shirts and ties.”

“Aw, Joe, do we have to?”

“Yeah, I think we’d better.  I’m guessing dinner is more of a high-class affair at the Watson’s than it would be on the Ponderosa.”  We started to leave when I had a second thought.  “Hang on a minute, brother.”  I stopped at the bar and asked the barkeep for his best bottle of champagne.

I was nervous about tonight.  I was anxious to visit with Molly, but on my terms, and I didn’t know if I’d have a chance to speak with her alone.  In fact, I had serious doubts Watson was looking forward to a night with me in his house.  After our final talk, I wondered if he’d keep Molly at arm’s length or if he’d realized I wasn’t a threat to him at all.

~~

“Molly,” Martha called up the stairs.  “Come on down, dear.  Our guests should be arriving soon.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Molly had selected a midnight-blue dress.  It wasn’t as fancy as the rest, no frills, no lace decorating the bodice, and Martha had actually approved of her choice on one of their Saturday shopping sprees.  She’d also practiced for hours; she’d learned how to tie her hair up off her shoulders with fancy ribbons, and she’d painstakingly woven in matching midnight-blue ribbons through her shiny, blonde hair.  Martha had often commented how grown-up she looked with her hair pulled up off her shoulders, and tonight, especially, she wanted very much to look grown-up for Joe.

“William?  Are you still up there?  Both of you come down here please.”

As Molly stood in front of the mirror, pinching her cheeks to add a dash of color, the bedroom door opened once again.  She turned to face her father, dropping her arms to her sides, as she’d been educated to do. 

“My, don’t we look splendid this evening.”  Molly took a deep breath, keeping her eyes on William, as expected.  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to impress our guests.  Just remember to behave yourself in front of men who’ve come to make sure you’ve settled in and are happy in your new home.”

“Yes, sir.”

William crossed the room; he turned his daughter to face the full-length mirror.  “Allow me,” he said.  Molly had been unable to fasten the final three buttons at the back of her dress, and William took it upon himself to do the job that was normally left for Martha.  “There, all set.”  Instead of backing away, he remained partially hidden behind Molly with only his face showing in the mirror alongside hers.  She turned her eyes away when William reached for her shoulders and slowly slid his hands down her arms. 

Molly held herself completely still, fearing that if she moved away, his loving touch would be viewed as something she found dirty, something underhanded or misleading.  It wasn’t as though she’d never been touched.  Many men had, but not like her new father.  He was gentle and kind.  He and Martha had given her so much that she should be grateful, but his manner of touching any part of her body was far from welcome.

“You’re a lovely young woman, Molly.”

“Thank you, sir.”

William chuckled softly.  He’d taught her well, but she always seemed so distant, and he’d hoped over the last few weeks she would have come around and accepted her new home as she’d accepted the Ponderosa not so long ago.  But something else was taking place as he gazed into the mirror.  Feelings he should never have, feelings he should only have for his wife began to surface and abruptly; he stepped away from Molly.

He shook the wrongful thoughts from his mind.  He was a married man with affluence and power within the community.  Never, never, never, but why was he letting his head reel with excitement and lust over a fifteen-year-old girl?  He’d never strayed before; he’d always been faithful to Martha, and besides, these sudden sensations were absurd.  This was wrong, and he quickly pulled himself together.  The future of his family, his life, and his standing in the community depended on his ability to maintain self-control.  Molly was his daughter, nothing more than a vehicle to keep Martha occupied by having a daughter of her own.  

“Don’t sit down, dear,” Martha reminded.  “You’ll wrinkle your lovely dress.”  They should be—oh!  I hear them now.  William, would you get the door?”

“Of course, Martha.”

Molly’s heart beat faster than a jackrabbit’s when her father stepped toward the front door.  She dried her sweaty palms between the folds of her skirt, hoping no one would notice how nervous she’d become over seeing Joe after all this time had passed.  When William reached for the latch and swung the door open, she could only see Hoss, standing with his hat in his hands.  Then, there was Joe, her Joe.  Her mouth went dry, and she tried to hold back the tears of happiness she felt as he stepped inside the room.

Both brothers looked toward Molly and smiled, and her heart leapt in her chest when Joe walked up and took her hands in his.  “You look beautiful.”  He raised his eyes to Martha, who was standing to Molly’s right, and nodded his head.  “You’ve done a wonderful job.  I don’t know why I ever worried about anything at all.  Thank you so much.  You’ve managed everything I could have hoped for.”

“Oh, Joseph, you’re too kind,” Martha said, her cheeks reddening after receiving such a lovely compliment from the handsome young man.

Hoss handed William the bottle of champagne.  “We could make a toast, but I’m afraid this bottle ain’t too cold.”

“No matter,” William stated cheerily.  “I have a new bottle of brandy, which just might surpass anything your father has on the Ponderosa.  We‘ll toast with that, boys.”

Cookie called dinner.  Hoss and I were seated across from Martha and Molly while William headed the table.  He executed his role as host by slicing the roast and passing plates around the dining room table. 

Joe couldn’t take his eyes off Molly.  She’d changed so much since she’d left the Ponderosa.  No longer was she the little chatterbox he remembered, always carrying on whether they rode side-by-side in the buckboard or were out riding horseback, searching for strays.  She may have even turned sixteen during the past couple of months.  He had no way of knowing exactly how old she was, but soon there would be coming-out parties and young men knocking at her door asking her father’s permission that they might escort her to a dance.

Molly hadn’t been allowed to get two words in edgewise.  Watson seemed to cut in and answer any questions that were asked, while Martha ran her mouth like a blue jay, telling all about her new daughter’s recent accomplishments.  Joe watched and waited for Molly to speak, to correct or to add to the conversation, but she seemed content to let her new parents interpret and recite her day’s and week’s activities.  Something felt odd, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.  Molly’s eyes were dull and despondent; a look he hadn’t witnessed since he’d discovered her living with her grandfather nearly a year ago.

With dinner now finished, Hoss and Joe were invited into the parlor for coffee and dessert, though Joe declined the offer, saying they had a long ride back home and had better get started before their pa sent out a posse.  They all stood from the table to say their goodbyes, but when Joe turned for one last glimpse of Molly, he noticed tears welling in her eyes.  Watson quickly sidled next to her and slipped his arm across her shoulders.  He pulled her closer to his side and, with a subtle smirk as though saying she’s mine, not yours, Molly shivered and, strangely enough, Joe felt embarrassed for all parties involved.

He knew this wouldn’t be his only trip down to Carson.  Although Martha had done everything in her power to make Hoss and Joe feel comfortable, he was on edge the entire evening.  Watson would glance at Molly as if gently reminding her how to behave.  There were a few times he thought she was ready to say something but decided it was best not to open her mouth at all. 

He didn’t know.  Maybe the quick glances and Molly’s silence were all in his mind.  Maybe he was making a big deal out of nothing.  Watson and Martha had done everything he’d asked them to do.  Molly was a young woman; she’d needed a woman’s touch, and that’s exactly what Martha had provided, so why was he so concerned?  Had they accomplished more in two short months than he had the entire time Molly lived on the Ponderosa?  Was he in some way jealous?  If he’d only had a chance to speak to her alone, he could have made sure everything was as it should be, and she was happy. 

~~

“I’ll say it again, Pa.  Things aren’t as perfect as they appear in the Watson household.”

“I don’t know why you think that, Joe.  Everythin’ about the dinner and the Watsons seemed just fine to me.”  Hoss looked at my father and smiled.  “You should see that little gal now, Pa.  It’s like she’s all growed up.  She don’t hardly look like or even act like the same little gal what lived here with us just a few months ago.”

“That’s just it!  Don’t you see, Hoss?  She acted nervous, maybe even scared, but I don’t know what she’d be scared of.  She wasn’t herself.”

“Joseph—” Pa cut in.  “I think you’re reading more into this than you should.  You don’t know she’s scared or unhappy or anything of the kind.”

“I wish I could explain it, Pa.  It’s just a feeling I have, but I know I’m right.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t know,” I said overloud.  “As I said, it’s just a feeling.”

“Well, you’re not going to disrupt that’s girl life just because you have a feeling.”

I turned from Pa.  I knew he wouldn’t understand, nor would Hoss, but I knew Molly inside and out, and maybe my feelings didn’t count with those two, but deep inside, I was sure I hadn’t completely lost my mind.  I would go back and I would see for myself.  Though Pa would never approve, I needed to see Molly one more time – alone. 

~~

“Molly and I are off to school, Martha,” William said before kissing his wife goodbye.  “Our daughter handled herself so well last night with our guests; I thought maybe we’d stop for lemonade or an ice-cream when I pick her up this afternoon, so we’ll be a little late getting home.” 

“You know, I have a meeting in town today; maybe I could meet you two for that ice cream.”

“Good,” William lied.  “A little after three at Lila’s Café?”

“Wonderful.  See you then.  Have a good day at school, sweetheart.  I love you.”

William took Molly’s arm and led her out the front door.  He sighed heavily.  Martha had ruined everything.  Next time, he’d take the girl fishing; no doubt that would keep his wife away.  He longed to experience the same reaction he’d felt the night before.  The excitement, the strain in his groin, the thrill of the chase had made him feel young again.  Although he’d never act on any underlying impulses, the feeling he’d experienced during those short, intimate moments, when his and Molly’s faces appeared in the mirror, had lifted the spirits of a man who’d considered himself too old to even recall those feelings of desire. 

Stopping in front of the schoolhouse, William dared himself to kiss Molly’s cheek.  Was it too much?  Would people think the gesture odd in any way?  Of course not.  Molly was his daughter, and he had every right.  Quickly, he leaned in and touched his lips to her cheek.

“See you after school,” he said.  “Have a good day.”

When her father had turned away and headed toward his office, Molly wiped her face with the back of her hand.  He called himself her father, and he’d embarrassed her in front of her new friends.  How could he do such a thing in public?  Father or not, she didn’t like him touching her, and now, this stupid kiss.  Why?  What right did he have to humiliate her in the schoolyard?

William leaned back in his chair and studied the new proposal he would have sent to Ben Cartwright, but he was finished with the Cartwrights altogether.  This new bid for lumber would go to Barney Fuller.  It was a conscious decision, the right decision.  It was time someone else profited from his hard work on these lucrative deals, and it would keep Joe Cartwright from using his father as an excuse to ride down to Carson and see Molly.

Ben had been a good friend over the years, and when he’d mentioned the young ward they wanted to place for adoption, William was honored that Ben had thought of Martha and him first.  Martha was beside herself with joy at the prospect of having a child in the house, and he was happy for her, but what happened in front of that mirror had changed everything.  Something long forgotten had blossomed inside him: a growing need, a desire for a girl so young and beautiful, something that had been unthinkable just days ago.

Could he possibly act on his desires?  He was conscious of her past; her past was an open book.  Joe Cartwright made sure of that.  Dirty little secrets only he and Martha, and the Cartwrights were aware of.  No one in his circle of friends or associates ever had to know the truth, but he knew, and it had altered his thinking.  She wasn’t a virgin; the girl was experienced in the ways of the world, and knowing the intricacies of her life made her even more desirable. 

In anyone’s eyes, Molly was damaged goods, and he would never think of taking advantage of a girl who had a bright future, but where was Molly’s future?  A man knows these things, and no decent man would take her as his wife, not a girl who’d been spoiled at such an early age.

His body reacted to his newfound thoughts, and he pressed his hand to his groin.  Dropping the contract on his desk, he closed his eyes and slid his hand inside his trousers.  He held himself, he began to stroke … and then he came to his senses.  His secretary was in the outer office. 

No, not here, not now.  My God.  What kind of man are you? 

But thoughts of Molly handling him created a certain power, a certain sense of control, and he saw no limits.  Desires he’d long abandoned pushed through to the forefront and took precedence over contracts and bids or anything else work-related.  He straightened himself in the chair.  Whether by accident or God’s holy providence, his life was about to change.

“I’d like you to have lunch with me today, Molly,” William said the following morning in front of the schoolhouse.

“Why?  Why can’t I stay here with my friends?”

“There’s something we need to discuss, and I’d rather not talk of such things out here in the open.” 

William let loose of Molly’s hand and dashed off to his office.  He greeted Arnold Levy, his longtime secretary, when he entered through the front door, only blocks from Molly’s school. 

“Morning,” he said briskly.

“Good morning, sir.  I have these contracts ready to—“

“That’s fine, Arnold.” 

William reached for the folder, but his mind was elsewhere.  What had he just done?  How had he become so bold?  The girl would do his bidding; he knew she would, but what then?  Could he actually touch her in ways he might fondle a whore in the red-light district of town?  He’d never been with a prostitute—well, not since he’d been married to Martha.  As a young man, he diddled in such activities, but he’d always remained faithful to his wife … until now.  Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he quickly pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket.

“Is anything wrong, Sir?”

“No.  Nothing, Arnold, but I’ll be saying in for lunch today.”

“Will you need me here, Sir?”

“No, not at all.  Take as long as you need.  I’ve got work to catch up on, and Henry Otis said he might stop in around noon or so.”

“Then I should be here, Sir.”

“I can handle him, Arnold.  You go on out to lunch as always.”

“Yes, Sir.”

William set the folder on his desk.  Henry Otis wasn’t coming, but it was an excellent lie.  He’d thought of the name and the idea so readily, he wanted to pat himself on the back for his ability to think quickly and pacify Arnold.  He didn’t realize he had it in him, but his future with Molly depended on certain tactics he’d not needed before.

He removed his suit jacket, folded it neatly, and draped it over the back of a wingback chair.  He was a man who loathed disorder, and he had always been particular about his appearance.  A wrinkled coat would never bode well with his upscale clients, nor would a desk filled with anything but the client’s immediate contract.  He was a disciplined man, and his business had thrived over the years when others just as talented had failed.  He was precise and extremely conscious of how he could benefit his client and himself, mostly himself.

Molly had become a rather difficult distraction.  Although unexpected, his weakness for her assaulted his power of concentration.  His willingness to filter through the contract on his desk seemed so mundane and trivial in comparison to what he was feeling for the young girl.  He checked his watch.  Hours—he had to wait hours for her to appear in his doorway.  Again, just the thought brought tightness to his groin.  He’d hold back.  He’d wait.  A future he’d never dreamed of would begin today.

“I’m off to lunch, Mr. Watson.”

“Take your time, Arnold.  Nothing is pressing this afternoon.”

“Thank you, Sir.  I may run a couple of errands if you don’t mind.”

“That would be fine.”

Molly slipped through the front door only minutes after Arnold had left.  Though William knew her appearance looked only natural to any outsiders—a daughter visiting her father—his nerves still caught hold when he greeted her at his office door.

“You’ve never been here before, have you, Molly?”

“No, Sir.  It’s very nice.  Kind of dark though.”

William had closed the floor-length drapes before her arrival; his desk lamp provided only dim, watery light in the room.  He took her hand and guided her to toward his desk.  Not sure how to proceed, he fumbled with the words he wanted to say.

“I—I need something from you, Molly?”

She couldn’t imagine.  What could he possibly need from her?  She had nothing to give but her gratitude for the home he and his wife had provided.

“I don’t understand.”

“I think you do.  I think you’ve known all along what would be expected of you, am I right?”

“I confused, I guess.  I’m not sure what you mean.”

He took her lunch pail and set it on the desk, then moved behind her and pressed himself against her.  His hands surrounded her waist, and she knew exactly what he needed.  Just like all the rest.  Sooner or later, they all wanted the same thing.  They couldn’t control their God-given needs, everyone except Joe, who’d made her a promise a long time ago.  No one would ever bother her again—until today.

Days turned into weeks.  Lunch had taken on a different meaning than that of Molly’s school friends.  There was no need to carry a lunch pail, but she did all the same.  Her father insisted that nothing change for Martha’s sake.  Sitting down with friends to eat her sandwich and a piece of fruit was only a memory.  Her father emptied her pail into his trash bin when she admitted she had no appetite.  That way, Martha would never suspect anything out of the ordinary. 

William had been nervous and awkward at first, but he was gaining confidence.  He’d placed her hand on his groin that first day, outside his trousers.  That’s all he asked of her, but a natural progression had brought him self-assurance, and he began fondling her breasts, or he’d press his hand between her legs.  In time, he lowered his trousers and would lean back in his leather chair and have her kneel before him.  He’d reach for her hand and place it on his penis.  The next few minutes were heaven.

He was a quiet man; he came in silence, and he’d praise her for being the woman he’d always wanted and needed in his life.  She never fought him; she never said no.  He’d confined his business with her to lunches only.  Never had he asked anything of her other than during the weekdays when they could be private and alone. 

One night, after everyone was fast asleep, she was awakened.  Her father had slipped into her bedroom unannounced, and though she felt his presence, she kept her eyes closed, even when he lowered the covers and sat down on the edge of her bed.  He slowly caressed each leg, eventually urging them farther apart.  She complied as though she hadn’t realized his arrival, but she wanted to scream.  She wanted Martha to know how despicable her husband was acting right across the hall from her own bed. 

“I know you’re awake.”

He needed to feel her warmth; he needed to feel inside her, and still, she hadn’t moved or opened her eyes.  As he leaned down to kiss her lips, he pushed his fingers inside her, and she moaned only slightly.  He knew exactly what to do next, what would make her as happy as he’d become over the prospect of having her completely.  He forced his fingers farther, extending deeper inside until her sudden wetness was proof.  She was excited by his touch.  The love she felt for him was not that of a little girl but of a full-grown woman whose wants and needs matched his own.

Though he couldn’t have her tonight with Martha so close at hand, it would be soon, very soon.  His office was no place for their romantic interludes.  Her own bed would suffice for such activities, but he needed Martha to be away.  One of her Christian missions would provide the perfect excuse for him to act out his fantasies.  No, not fantasies anymore.  This was real.  He and Molly would consummate their love for each other in the days to come.

He grew eager at the thought of having her all to himself.  He probed deeper inside, and Molly tightened herself around his fingers, a true sign of her love for him and his gentle ways.  He grew hard with desire.  His dream was nearing, and he couldn’t have felt more prideful or more eager to move forward with their relationship.  He’d gone with his impulses, and he’d been right to do so.  How difficult it had been for him to take that initial step toward a lifetime of contentment and pleasure.

“It won’t be long,” he whispered in her ear.  “No, it won’t be long at all.”

After realizing how long he’d been away from his marital bed, he lowered Molly’s nightgown and pulled the covers back over her before he leaned down once more and kissed her cheek.  She was a goddess; she was his goddess, and he couldn’t be more pleased that she’d made it known how desperately she desired him, too.

“I’m out the door, Dear,” Martha said.  “Off to choir practice.”

“You have fun, Sweetheart.  Molly and I’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone.”

“Sure you won’t come with me, Dear?”

“No, Ma’am,” Molly said after William had advised her earlier to remain at home.  “I don’t have much of a singing voice.”

“Singing,” Martha corrected.  “The proper word is singing, but I think you have a lovely voice.  I used to listen to you sing all the time.”

“Thank you, but you go on.  I have homework to catch up on before tomorrow.”

“All right, Dear.  Don’t forget Cookie has dessert when you’re ready.  You need to eat more, Molly.  Your appetite hasn’t been up to par lately.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“All right then, I’m off.  I’ll see you two later.”

The night had finally come; tonight, William would proclaim his love.  He’d smothered any further advancement for three long days and nights.  Though he’d slipped into Molly’s bedroom each night since, this newfound freedom gave him and the girl their first chance to be together without fear of interruption.  He could barely contain himself; his excitement had already become obvious, and he’d concealed his erection with the daily newspaper.

“It’s time, Molly.  It’s finally time.”  He took her hand in his.  She showed no fear, but why should she?  After all, she was experienced, and tonight, he would be rewarded by her many talents in the bedroom.  “Let’s use your room.  We’ll have privacy there.”

“What about Cookie?”

“Oh—I’ll speak to her now.  I’ll meet you upstairs.”

Molly sat down on the edge of her bed.  Her father had waited a long time for this, and she knew from now on, every time Martha left the house, she’d be expected to perform.  Just like the old days when Orville had men come to the house to buy his whiskey.  She knew what was expected of her, and she knew the type of punishment Orville had been capable of if she didn’t respond accordingly. 

Her father entered her room, but he kept his hand on the doorknob; he only stared, which made her more nervous about their encounter than she realized.  She hoped he had second thoughts and sighed with relief until he took a step forward.

“You’re a lovely girl, Molly, and you’ve made me a very happy man.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Since you feel the same way too, I’ll try to pleasure you as much as you pleasure me.”

His words had taken Molly by surprise.  What did he just say?  Pleasure me?  How would he ever get an idea like that?  How could he think this was something she wanted?  She only did what was expected of her—her lot in life had been pounded into her head all those years ago—and he thought he made her happy?  Happiness was the furthest thing from her mind.

William moved forward and removed his jacket, a navy blue smoking jacket he wore every night after arriving home.  He pulled Molly to her feet and turned her slightly so he could unfasten the buttons running down the back of her dress.  And when it fell to the floor, he turned her again to face him.  He loosened the pins from her hair and, with his fingers, he feathered her golden locks across her shoulders, and he smiled.  With ease, he slipped the straps of her camisole from her shoulders. 

It seemed he had a gift, or so he thought.  He could put Molly and himself at ease by taking things slow.  He was a thoughtful man, and he would always consider her feelings above his own.  Never would he treat her like the whores he’d frequented in his youth.  After all, he was a civilized man, and in time, he hoped she would act on her own desires for him.  But tonight, he was the aggressor, and he would show her his own brand of dominance.  She would take him inside her, and she would know his abiding love.

With her camisole unbuttoned, he cupped her breasts and fondled them gently until Molly began to whimper with delight, and he squeezed them even tighter.  Pain and pleasure.  She likes that.  He lowered her petticoats and her bloomers.  He slipped off her stockings and boots until she was naked and standing before him.

“Would you like to undress me?”

“I’d rather watch instead.”

William’s eyes lit up.  He was enjoying his first night of freedom from Martha and the world around him.  His confidence grew, and he quickly disrobed.  She wouldn’t cry.  She wouldn’t say no.  She’d lie down and take him inside her if that’s what he wanted.  Although he’d taken his time undressing her, he rushed to remove his own clothing before he lowered the covers and climbed into her bed.  He held out his arms, eager for her to satisfy his growing need. 

“Come to me, Dear.”

There were never choices; there never had been.  Joe had lied when he’d told her there were.  If she could, she’d end her life tonight and not have to do a man she’d come to despise.  Instead, she straddled him with her knees on either side of his hips.  He was hard and she lowered herself slowly.  It had been over a year since she’d had a man inside her, and this time it hurt, just like when Orville had first taken her to his bed and told her it was time.

She felt every inch of him.  Her insides were dry and her body unyielding; his hardened cock caused pain.  Even though she’d reacted to his probing fingers the last few nights, she realized she’d misled him into thinking she desired him in some way.  The force he used brought tears to her eyes.  She fell forward and propped her hands flat on the bed.  Her father pulled her closer.  He tightened his hands around her waist and began moving her accordingly.  She held her breath until she finally gasped for air but he took that as a sign of her love; her breath caught once again but suddenly, his erection faded to nothing.  She hadn’t expected him to falter, but his body had betrayed him.

“I’m sorry.  I—I couldn’t hold it for you.”

“Don’t worry, Father.  Some men have trouble that way.”

William hadn’t expected such a reaction from Molly, and her words angered him.  How could she compare him to other men, mountain men who paid to use her?  He was not like other men.  He was above being equated to scum like that.  He tossed her sideways on the bed and rose up above her.  He wanted to slap her, to punish her for making him feel like the rat-bastards she’d been with before him.  Didn’t she understand how special their relationship was—that theirs was like no other?

“I’ve never had this trouble before.  I’m not like other men.  It’s not my fault, Molly, it’s yours.”

Although darkness shadowed the room and she couldn’t see his eyes, his voice frightened her.  He’d become outraged over her statement and blamed her for his lack of ability.  She knew better than to say more; she knew better than to backtalk any man.

William lay back on the bed.  He pulled the blanket to his waist.  This had been all wrong.  He’d been too excited and he’d failed to accomplish the task.  He cursed himself for not performing up to his own high standards.  Maybe if she’d initiated sex in the first place …

He reached for her hand.  “Touch me, Molly.”

He’d been overanxious.  He wound his arm around her shoulders and pulled her small body next to his.  He’d let her fingers work their magic, and he’d take his rightful place on top of her this time.  That had been his mistake.  He knew that now and this way, he was bound to keep his erection and show her he wasn’t anything like other men.

His performance was stellar.  He assured himself he’d satisfied them both completely.  Molly was spent, and so was he.  She’d turned her head to catch her breath.  Forgetting his first attempt, their lovemaking had been everything he’d hoped for, and he was pleased with the final outcome.

“That was wonderful, Molly.”

She laid her arm across her eyes.  Tears threatened, but she would never let him know how miserable the experience had been.  He’d become an animal, full of himself, just like all those times Ugly Elbert had climbed on top of her.  Hungry to do her, he’d leave her lying on the bed naked while he buttoned his greasy trousers and walked out of the curtained-off room.  She often heard the exchange of money—two bits—and the sound of laughter generally followed.

Though no money would be exchanged for services rendered this time, she should be grateful for a roof over her head.  Wasn’t that what this was all about?  This wasn’t love or passion; this was payment for a home, and a mother and father to guide her in the ways of the world.  Martha dressed her up like a china doll, and William would use her whenever he saw fit.

She was beginning to understand everything now.  This was the real world.  This wasn’t the make-believe world where a prince and his princess might live happily ever after.  No knight in shining armor.  No skipping stones or riding fence with the man she loved. 

The man she’d been forced to call father thought he was doing her a favor by taking her to bed.  He was despicable.  Yes, she’d learned a lot of new words, and despicable was the one she’d use to describe William Watson.  A beast of a man, only thinking of his own desires, his own God-given needs.

Martha’s need to fulfill her outside obligations had been a godsend.  Three nights a week, she was out saving others, and William and Molly had their private time together.  No more tiptoeing to hide from the world around them.  William was free to act upon his desires nearly anytime he wished.  Their evenings alone had become an opportunity for him to express his talents in the bedroom, and his mind worked overtime thinking of new ways to excite his partner and encourage Molly to try different things.

He often thought pain was the pinnacle of pleasure.  Endure pain, and a person would find pleasure that much faster and with a more gut-wrenching excitement than most of the standard practices he’d used with his highly devoted Christian wife.  He wanted to examine any alternatives that might enhance the simple gratification they had learned to accept in the bedroom.  The possibilities were endless.  What would he have to say or do for Molly to refuse him?  What would make her squirm or hesitate in his presence?  Would a certain amount of pain be considered an aphrodisiac for their lovemaking, or had his thoughts become wicked and vile?  Was he asking too much of the girl?  No, not Molly.  She enjoyed making love as much as he did, and she’d welcome a bit of game playing.  He’d never take his fantasies too far; he only wanted to add a different touch of excitement to their evenings alone. 

William was a man of means, a man of power outside his home, so why not behind closed doors?  He’d threatened men before; he’d brought lesser men to their knees when winning was the final goal.  Being the aggressor, he’d often forced his opponent into submission to derive substantial business contracts.  He was known as “The Bull” in certain aspects of business.  He knew what he wanted and how to obtain results, so why not?  Why not carry the bull through to the bedroom?

“I’d like to try something different this evening,” he said after Martha walked out the front door.

“Fine.  Where do you want me this time?”

William was dumbfounded.  Molly’s question was sarcastic in nature and not what he’d expected.  Even though they’d ventured from her bed to other parts of the house, which proved more daring for William, he found her attitude less than he could readily accept.  Was she playing a game too?  Had she read his mind and was she willing to flaunt disrespect so she’d have to be punished?  He stood in front of her and grabbed her wrist. 

“Am I hurting you, Molly?”  He tightened his hold.  “Are you feeling any pain?”

“No, Father, but would you rather I said yes?  I don’t know what you want from me.”

She’d never snubbed him before, but this sudden attitude made him want her even more.  His heart raced, and without thinking of the consequences, he tore open her dress and the cotton camisole she wore underneath.  His mouth covered her left breast until he’d left a bruising of teeth marks as she struggled to back away from his overzealous behavior.

“Am I hurting you now, Molly?” 

His breathing had become heavy and erratic, but he waited for her to answer before he did something he couldn’t hide from Martha or the cook, who was only a room away.  When her answer wasn’t forthcoming, he leaned in to bite her right breast, just as he’d done with the left.  But when she steadied her hands against his shoulders, she cried out.

“Yes, Father.  Yes.  You’re hurting me.” 

Tears threatened her large brown eyes, and William pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her.  He soothed away slips of golden blonde hair from her face and told her how sorry he was that he’d lost control and acted in such a way that would make her cry.

“Come with me.”

After guiding her up the stairs, he led her through her bedroom door.  Guilt over what he’d just done to his beautiful princess had been a clear sign he could easily lose control.  Being the aggressor in business had no place in the bedroom, and he would change his perception of pain to a more gentle teasing rather than hurt the woman he loved.

“Go ahead and undress yourself, and lie down on the bed.”  He lowered himself into the upholstered chair and tried to calm his breathing.  “I’ll just watch, but don’t hurry.  Take your time.  I want to enjoy the woman you’ve become, not the little girl we’ve left behind.”

Molly untied her boots and set them aside.  She dampened her palms with her tongue and rolled down her stockings before slipping off her bloomers.

“Slower, Molly.”

With his legs spread casually, William leaned back in the chair and watched his girl disrobe.  She did as he asked; she slowed the process until she was fully naked, but she’d clasped her hands together in front of her light pubic hair as though she were embarrassed.  He found it very seductive, and he placed his own hand at his groin.

William stood, moved her to the bed, and set her down in front of him with her feet still touching the floor.  He spread her legs wider than he thought possible, and she fell back on her elbows, but she kept her eyes on his movements.  With his little finger, he circled her entrance, barely touching each individual hair.  Like a feather, his delicate method made her shiver, and her muscles tightened and relaxed with his gentle, seductive touch.

William smiled.  God, how she wants me.  He kept a rhythm of featherlike movements until Molly’s hips shivered and lifted slightly from the bed.  Embarrassed by her growing desire, she turned her face away, and with his free hand, he motioned her to watch his eyes and concentrate on every movement he made.

“Do you like this, Molly?  Is this what makes you happy?”

Although she didn’t answer, he realized her breathing had become faster.  His gentle movements had aroused her like nothing else had before.  Maybe pain wasn’t necessary after all.  Her juices were flowing, but what if he left her unsatisfied?  What if he teased her to the point where she reached out for him?  Slowly, he slid one finger between her natural folds.  Warm and wet, exceptionally wet, and he cautioned himself to only arouse, nothing more.

Molly fell back flat on the bed.  She pulled her knees up toward her chest, and he moved with her, forcing her legs back open, and he gazed upon her hidden entrance.  Her muscles were acting on their own—fluttering—without being touched at all, and he was fascinated by her body’s ultimate desire for a man twice her age, a man she called father in public but had graciously accepted as her lover behind closed doors.

“More, Molly?”

Again, she said nothing, but he knew the feverish passion running through her was begging him to continue.  He lowered his trousers and touched his erection to her folds, but he wouldn’t penetrate, only tease.  He’d deal with his own satisfaction later.

Heat radiated from her opening, and the tip of his penis was slick with her intense warmth and silky wetness.  He’d never seen her so aroused, and he pulled back.  He cupped his penis to his stomach and reached for her hand.  He would not enter; he would leave her wanting.  He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction she so desperately desired.

“Sit up now, Molly.”

She did as she was told, and he guided her head toward him.  He would be satisfied after all, and she would still be wanting.  That was enough pain for one night.

“Please, Father.”  She didn’t want to touch him.  She’d had enough.

“Pleasure is nothing without pain, Molly.  Do you understand what I’m saying?”  Was she begging him?  Was this the night that would change everything?

“No, I—I don’t understand.  Please don’t do this …”

He’d never known this type of power in the bedroom.  The girl was devastated by his refusal to satisfy her.  Her reaction to his touch had proved a powerful aphrodisiac, and now her warm breath and her powerful tongue would surround him, and he would have proved his point.  She would soon learn all the intricacies of a man whose ability to give and take away on just a whim would keep her in line and keep her desire for him stronger than he’d ever imagined.

He’d never taken such risks before, and with his newfound confidence, he had proven his worth not only to himself but to the girl on bended knees.  He dug his fingers through her hair, as she took him farther into oblivion.

William sat in his leather chair.  Holding the newspaper with both hands, he forced himself to read the bolded headlines.  Only moments ago, he’d been pleasured, slipped back into his smoking jacket, and left Molly’s room.  And now, Martha was walking through the front door with the same tired greeting he’d come to find grating and irritating.

“Hello, everyone.  I’m home.”

“How was your night, Dear?”

“Lovely.  We’ve raised over one thousand dollars for the orphanage.”

“That’s fine, Dear.”

“Is anything wrong, William?  You looked flushed.”

“No, Martha.  It’s probably just the brandy.”

“Then you shouldn’t drink so much.  You’ll be resting in the grave long before—“

“Please, Martha.  Not tonight.”

“Yes, dear.”

William never moved from his chair in the parlor, and the headlines blurred as he thought of how exceptional his evening had been.  He wondered if there was more.  Was there even more excitement in his future?  Would Molly eventually come to him, come willingly to his bed, and beg him to love her?  He lowered the paper to his lap and let his mind drift …

Lying motionless—my body firm and fit, unlike the man I’d become, but the young, vibrant man I’d been so many years ago—I waited.  And, like an angel from heaven, Molly appeared in my bedroom doorway.  She smiled as she began unpinning her hair.  She let it fall across her shoulders like golden waves against a sundrenched shore …

“William?”

Martha’s shrill voice sabotaged his carefree illusions of forthcoming passion.  He was flustered; he was out of sorts.  How could she interrupt him at such a crucial point in his fantasy?  Martha was becoming nothing but a nuisance.  Adding a few extra activities would get her out of the house more often.  He’d be damned if he was going to let her continue to disrupt his everyday life with her constant chatter about this and that.

“What is it now, Martha?”

“I just asked if you were coming to bed, but you seemed so far away.  Did I do something to upset you?”

“No, Martha.  I’ll be up soon.  I just want to finish this article in the paper.”

He listened until her footsteps silenced, then lay his head back in the chair.  He closed his eyes, but the dream was finished—poof—gone forever. 

He had everything.  What more could a man ask for in this life?  He was a wealthy man in so many respects.  His business thrived even though he’d been distracted over the last few weeks, and he was happy with the way his and Molly’s lives were flowing in the right direction.  With her by his side, he could do anything.  He could build an empire. 

But how could that possibly work?  There was Martha to consider.  There’d be no end to the gossip if their private liaisons were ever revealed.  Their love for each other had to remain behind closed doors forever.  He’d never have the right to stroll down the boardwalk with Molly on his arm and show the world she was his. 

He stood from his chair.  He needed rest.  He needed to sort his thoughts.

Chapter 2

I’d been needed at the ranch.  Chores were never-ending, and when Pa announced his presence was required in San Francisco to negotiate a new timber contract, I’d been forced to remain home with Hoss until my father’s return.

“I’ll be away two or three weeks, Boys,” Pa said for the umpteenth time when we drove him into Virginia City to catch the westbound stage.

Hoss and I rolled our eyes and smiled.  “We know, Pa.”

“Don’t forget we have that lumber contract to fill for Jensen’s new livery.”

“Right, Pa,” Hoss said.  “We won’t forget.”

“Oh, and boys—”

“Pa—” I said, raising his hand.  “We know.”

Although this was the worst possible month for my father to be away, plans for a new trestle had to be finalized or chance losing a very profitable deal with the railroad.  With no new bids coming in from Watson, my father had been forced to do all the work himself, which included time away from the ranch.  I had wanted to make a quick trip to Carson City, but with Pa out of town, taking time for my own wants and needs became impossible.

“You still think about her, don’t you?”  Hoss said that night at supper.

“All the time, Brother.”

“You gotta let this whole thing with Molly go, Joe.”

Though Hoss was reaching for seconds, I’d barely touched my firsts.  I truly loved Hop Sing’s fried chicken and biscuits, but after Hoss brought Molly’s name into the conversation, I had no desire to eat what was on my plate. 

“I wish I could forget and get on with my life, but I can’t, Hoss.  And now, with another three-week delay, I—”

“Listen, Joe.  Pa made me promise to keep you tied to the ranch while he was gone, so no funny business, you hear?  I hate having to remind you but when your head’s screwed on straight, you’re actually a valuable asset to the Ponderosa.”

I chuckled at Hoss’s way of telling me I wasn’t to leave the ranch or he’d pound me good.  Leaving him to run things alone had never crossed my mind, although checking in on Molly was never far from my thoughts. 

“Don’t worry.  I don’t plan to sneak off in the middle of the night or any other time.  Besides, that would leave you in charge.”

“I’m already in charge.”

I knew that and Hoss knew he was in charge, and I smiled at Hoss, then realized—after he attempted to lighten my mood—I had an appetite after all, and I reached for a piece of fried chicken.

Hoss and I worked well together; we always had, and, in Pa’s absence, we’d become quite a team.  We knew what had to be done and we did it; no questions asked, no bickering over certain chores.  I’d used up all my bickering with my older brother, and those days were long gone. 

Pa was due home at noon, and Hoss and I hitched the surrey to give him a decent ride after rattling around on the stage from Reno to Virginia City.  Pa deserved the best plus, I wanted him in a good mood during supper.  Although my father was pleased over securing the new timber contract, my mind was elsewhere as he rattled on about how important the job was and how much work this deal would take to accomplish properly.  We’d have to hire new men for the job.  It was larger than most and would require longer working hours for us all.

Hop Sing cooked a special meal in honor of Pa’s homecoming, and we all sat down at the table when he called us to supper.  After all had been said on the way home, I was hesitant to ask a favor of any kind, especially one that was considered a moot point in this house.  I waited until our plates were filled and the conversation came to a lull.  It was now or never.

“I need to ride down to Carson.”

“Oh?  What for?” 

Although he acted surprised over my request, he had to know the reason; the only reason I ever rode to Carson should have been obvious.

“Come on, Pa.  You know why.”

“Joseph—I’m not even home twenty-four hours, and you’re already hitting me with requests I’d rather you wouldn’t go through with.”

“Look, Pa.  We have round-up beginning in a couple of days, and I won’t be able to get away for weeks.  We have this new contract to fill, and as you stated earlier, we have to give it our all.  This is the only chance I’ll have, and I promise, I’ll be back before supper.” 

“You’re old enough to make your own decisions, Joseph, but you know I think you’re wrong to interfere.  You’re looking for trouble where trouble doesn’t exist.  Why, Joe?  Why are you so dead-set on disrupting that girl’s life?”

“That girl has a name, Pa, but tell me; how can you dismiss Molly so easily?”

“I haven’t dismissed her at all.  I just think you should—“

“I’m sorry you feel that way, and I won’t bring her name up again in this house if that’s what you want, but I’m leaving first thing in the morning.  I’m sorry, Pa, but I have to go.”

I rode out early the following morning.  I had no real plan in mind, but when I tied Cooch in front of one of the many saloons, I wished I ridden another mount, one less obvious.  Watson’s office was just up the block, and the schoolhouse was in the opposite direction at the far end of town.  I’d taken my time; I knew I couldn’t see Molly till lunchtime, so there was no reason to show up too early and chance I’d be seen by Watson.

But I didn’t realize the hour; I’d taken more time than I thought.  When I heard children running out to the playground for their midday break, I started down the boardwalk toward the school.  A flash of blue caught my eye.  A girl was running up the shaded side of the street with her lunch pail in her hand.  I took a second look.  Molly? 

I called out her name, but she kept moving forward as though late for an important appointment.  I called her name again. 

“Molly?”

When she turned her face in my direction, I waved my hat over my head, but she continued up the walkway.  I hurried across the busy main street and called her again.

“Molly?”  This time, she stopped moving.  “Didn’t you hear me call?”

“I don’t have time, Joe.  Go away.”

I reached for her arm.  “Molly, what’s wrong?  Why all the hurry?”

“Nothing, Joe.  I’ll be late, that’s all.”

“What’s so important?  Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“I have to meet my father, so please let me go.”

I released her arm, and she took off like the devil was on her coattails.  Something was mighty important and, I suppose, it was really none of my business.  Maybe Pa was right.  Maybe I was butting in where I shouldn’t after all.  Since I’d ridden this far, I could sit and have a beer and watch for Molly to head back to school.  Maybe she’d at least have time for a proper hello.

Though time passed slowly, I took a table by the front window and waited.  After two beers, I realized Molly was staying with her father the entire hour, but I had time.  This was my last chance before all hell broke loose on the Ponderosa.  I had time to wait her out. 

And there she was, hurrying back down the boardwalk toward school.  I gulped the last of my beer and ran out of the saloon to catch her once more.  This time, I didn’t call her name, I just ran until our boot heels were striding in unison.  She didn’t slow her step.  She didn’t say a word.

“Molly, stop!  Stop and talk to me.”

“I can’t.  I’m late for school, Joe.”

“Can I meet you after?”

“No!  I mean … Father will be there to walk me home.  He wouldn’t like it if he found you there.”

She turned her head, and I couldn’t see into her eyes; I couldn’t tell if this was the truth or not.  Why did she seem so nervous and afraid?  I grabbed hold of her arm again.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?  Tell me, Molly, and I’ll help you.  I can’t do anything if you won’t talk to me.”

She shook her head, but tears glistened in her eyes.  She finally called a halt to the frantic pace and stopped abruptly.  She jerked her arm free and turned to face me.

“You didn’t want me, and you made me come here.  You made me live with him, and I hate him.  I hate him!” 

I watched her go; I stood frozen in place.  I could only think the worst.  Had Watson punished her in some way … maybe beat her with a leather strap or his belt, letting the buckle leave welts on her skin?  Were these pillars of the community hiding something behind closed doors?  Had Pa only known their public persona?  I nearly marched down to Watson’s office to tell him exactly what I thought, but I’d make a huge mess of things if I carried on like a fool kid without all the facts.  And, if Molly wouldn’t talk, how would I ever know?  How could I possibly help her?

I slapped my hat across my thigh in frustration.  I’d promised Pa a quick trip down and back, and I couldn’t hang around all day waiting for Molly to shed light on her current situation.  I had to ride home.

Molly excused herself from the classroom, and though she shivered on the outside, she felt fevered on the inside and made a mad dash for the outhouse where she quickly emptied the contents of her morning breakfast.  She steadied her hand against the wall as a deep inner ache consumed her and, feeling lightheaded, she sat down before she fell down.  She cradled her head in her hands and remembered what had happened yesterday when she spent her lunch break behind the schoolhouse with the same ill feeling she’d had today.

When her father had come for her after school, the look in his eyes told her all she needed to know, and when he jerked her arm, forcing her from her classmates in a hurried fashion, she hoped her explanation would satisfy his building rage. 

“I was sick, Father.  I didn’t feel well and I couldn’t—“

“Not now.”

They walked home together.  William set a brisk pace, and Molly feared the worst.  Her head still ached; her school work was unfinished, and she’d been embarrassed in front of her friends. 

“You leave me no choice, Molly.”

She hadn’t a clue what he was talking about.  When had she ever had choices, and why, for just one day of her life, wouldn’t he leave her alone?

“All I ask is that you come to my office on your lunch hour so we can meet privately.  You think this is easy for me?  I have to arrange my clients accordingly and make sure Arnold is away from the office so we can have our private time, and what happens?”

“I’m sorry, I—“

“I won’t accept excuses, Molly.  This is a finely tuned process, and when something like this happens, I’m truly angered by your lackadaisical attitude.  It’s time you grew up and became part of the adult world.  You’re not a child anymore.”

“I know, Father, but—“

“Believe me, this isn’t over.  There are always consequences for our actions, lessons to be learned, and defiance is not an option.  I expect you to think real hard, and more than anything else, I expect an apology.  Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I can’t start roundup tomorrow, Pa.”

My father was furious.  He pushed back his desk chair and proceeded to march back and forth in front of me until he found the right words to say.

“No, Joseph.  This has gone on long enough, and it’s time to stop all this nonsense.”

“I disagree.”

“Oh, do you.”

“Yes, Sir, I do.”

“Why, Joseph?  Why won’t you leave those people alone?”

Now I was pacing the room.  I’d explained myself so many times before, and Pa refused to listen.  His mind was set, but so was mine, and I refused to give up on Molly just because Pa thought I was interfering with his friend’s private life.

“Molly needs me, and I won’t abandon her just because you think Watson is some sort of saint and therefore nothing could possibly be amiss inside that household.  I saw the look in her eyes; I saw the fear, Pa.  You weren’t there, I was, so don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“What proof do you have, Son?  A look?  Maybe the girl didn’t finish her homework assignment.  Maybe she had a disagreement with her parents.  Children do, you know.  That’s all part of growing up.”

“I know all that, but there’s more.  I’m not wrong about this, Pa.”

My father sighed overloud.  It was a sign of disgust; I knew it well.  I softened my voice.

“You know I’d never leave the ranch right before round up if I didn’t have just cause.  You know that, Pa, but Molly’s welfare is important to me.  I still feel responsible.”

“You’ll have to have that proof that something’s wrong, and just how do you intend to find out if she won’t talk to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well?”

“I said I don’t know.”  Disrespectfully, I raised my voice to my father.  “I‘ll make her talk to me.  I have to know the truth.”

“You’re taking a risk, Joseph.  You know how that girl feels about you.”

“I know very well, but I can’t let any of that stand in the way.  Trust me on this, Pa.  Molly needs me.  I can’t tell you why, I just know.”

Another heavy sigh from Pa, but this time, it was a sigh of acceptance, and after years of discrepancies with my father, I recognized the difference.  Pa understood.  He didn’t like what I was proposing, but he understood how I felt and why I had to go back and see Molly one more time.  He tried to smile, but he was afraid for me, and there was also a price to be paid.  A longtime friendship would be damaged or possibly severed because of my persistence.

“Thanks, Pa.  I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

Pa was right; I needed proof, and this time I was determined to find the underlying cause of Molly’s reluctance to talk.  This was more than a missed homework assignment, more than a mother/daughter disagreement.  Something was seriously wrong.  This time, I tied Cochise farther down the street from Watson’s office and closer to the schoolhouse so I wouldn’t miss Molly when she came outside for lunch.  I didn’t have to wait long.  Just like before, Molly was rushing up the boardwalk with her lunch pail swinging in her hand.  I stood in front of her.  I blocked her hurried movements.

“Where are you off to today, Molly?  Another visit with your father?”

“Please, Joe.  I have to hurry; I can‘t be late.  Father expects me for lunch.”

“You do this every day?  Your father expects you every day?” 

Molly wrapped her arms around her waist; she sidestepped me and continued up the walkway.  I didn’t like that there had been no answer, and I was more curious now than ever.  Why would Watson insist she come for lunch?  Was he that possessive that he wouldn’t let the hour provided so she could have fun with her friends, be hers and not his?  I didn’t understand his motives at all.  What was I missing?

“Stop, Molly.  Give me two minutes of your time … please.”

Although she quit racing forward, she averted her eyes and stared at the passersby moving up and down the street.

“Look at me, Molly.  I want to help you, but I don’t understand.  Talk to me.  Tell me what’s wrong.”

“My father likes me to come for lunch, that’s all, Joe, so let me alone.  Let me go, or my father will be mad at me for being late.”

“What happens if you’re late?  Are you punished?  Has he ever hit you?  Tell me, Molly.”

She shook her head.  “I have to go.”

“What about your mother?”

“My mother?”

“Martha.  Do you two fight?  Does she hit you?”

“Why are you doing this, Joe?  Why all the questions?  Why now?”

“Why now?  I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

Molly started walking again, and I walked alongside her.

“No, I don’t fight with my mother.  Are you satisfied?”

“No, I’m not satisfied at all.  Something isn’t right.”

“Go back to the Ponderosa, Joe.”  Anger rose in Molly’s voice.  “I belong here, and you don’t.  I have a new family; you saw to that, and there’s no turning back.  This is my home.  This is my lot in life, and it’s too late to change the way things are, so just go away.”

I hesitated.  I tried to make sense of her heated statement while she walked quickly toward her father’s office.  She didn’t look back, but I watched her until something strange happened.  Her legs seemed to weaken, and she leaned heavily against the side of a clapboard building.  Was she ill?  She slumped even farther as her legs gave way completely.  She sank down to the boardwalk, letting her lunch pail fall to the ground.  I ran.

“What’s the matter, Molly?  What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she cried.  “I’m sick, Joe.  I’m really sick.” 

“How long?”

A keening moan was my only answer.  I slid my arms under her and held her tight to my chest.  “Which way to the doc?”

She pointed cattycorner across the street, and I carried her, calling out for a doctor as soon as I reached the front steps.  A young man, taller than average with straight blonde hair, greeted me at the front door.

“I need the doc.  The girl’s sick.”

“I’m the doctor here.  Bring her in and lay her down on the table.” 

I did what I was told, but as soon as I laid Molly down, I noticed bright, red blood staining the sleeve of my jacket.  The doctor noticed, too, and he was the first to speak.

“Are you the woman’s husband?”

“No—no, just a friend.”

“Will you wait outside then?”

“Will she be okay?”

He took hold of my arm and guided me out of his surgery.  “If you’ll wait here, I’ll do what I can, but it may be too late.”

I stared at the closed door.  Paul Martin had said there was a new doctor in Carson City, but this man looked too young to practice medicine or anything else.  He was the youngest doctor I’d ever seen, and I wondered how green he really was.  I’d have felt a whole lot better if Paul was taking care of things.

Though I paced the tiny room, my head spun with unanswered questions.  Watson was sitting in his office waiting for Molly, and if I were any kind of man, I’d let him know his daughter was sick, but somehow, I felt he was to blame.  No, that was wrong.  I couldn’t think that way, but I knew what I saw, and I wasn’t naïve.  I’d been raised on a ranch, and from the time I was five years old, I knew more than I needed about barn animals. 

Was I jumping to conclusions?  Oh, God.  This couldn’t be happening again.  Not to Molly.  Not Mr. Pillar of the Community.  Just calm down.  I told myself that more than once while I waited, but I was nearly hysterical as I thought of … no, my thoughts were out of control.  This wasn’t what it appeared to be.  There had to be a reasonable explanation.

My mind stopped reeling when the door opened and the doctor walked into the outer office.  He pointed to two chairs and we took seats next to each other.

“What is it, Doc?”

“First things first, Mister?”

“Joe, Joe Cartwright.”

“Dr. Timothy Reynolds, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Doctor.  Is she okay?”

“I’m sorry.  I’m not familiar with this girl.  You said she was a friend of yours?”

“Yessir.”

“A close friend, I take it.”

“Yes.”

“Then you were aware she was with child?”

“A child?  No, I—I wasn’t aware.”

“I see.”

“No!  You don’t see.”

“Well, she wasn’t very far along.  I’m sure she planned to tell you and just hadn’t had the opportunity to—“

“No, you don’t understand.”

Reynolds crossed his arms over his chest.  Was he challenging me for an answer I couldn’t give?  I had suspicions, but that was all, and I wasn’t about to divulge anything without knowing any of the particulars.

“Then maybe you could explain why you carried your pregnant girlfriend into my office.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, Doctor.  It’s complicated.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t see, but I’ll explain.  The girl’s name is Molly.  William and Martha Watson are in the process of adopting her.  She’s been living under their guardianship.”

“Oh, yes.  I’d heard they’d adopted a daughter, although I didn’t realize the girl was this old.”

“Old?”

“What I meant was, she’s certainly not a baby.”

“Oh, right.  No, she’s not a baby.  She’s nearly sixteen, or she may be sixteen already.  I’m not sure.”

“Seems to me William and Martha got more than they bargained for.”

“What’d you mean by that?”  I didn’t like the doc’s attitude; his smart remarks didn’t sit well with me.

“Certainly you understand my meaning, Mr. Cartwright.  The Watsons provide a stable environment, and the girl is—should I say, cavorting with you behind their backs.”

What little patience I’d had ran dry, and Reynolds never knew what hit him.  I grabbed the doctor’s shirtfront, tightening my fists until the young man’s face burned bright red and he gasped for air. 

“You’re wrong, Doc.  You’re very, very wrong.”

“Please,” he begged.  “I can—can’t breathe.”

Realizing how severe my rage had become, I let my hands fall away and stepped back from the doctor and, regretting my actions—my damn temper—I apologized for my uncalled-for behavior.  “I’m sorry, Doc.  I didn’t mean—”

Reynolds massaged his neck with his right hand and steadied himself against the wall with his left as if we’d just had a knockdown, drag-out fight.  He sputtered and coughed and carried on like I’d beaten him half to death.  I was embarrassed for attacking the man, but wasn’t he taking his discomfort a bit too far?

“You-you’ll play for this, Mr. Cartwright.  You had no call—”

“I apologize.  I was wrong, but so were your assumptions.”

“I beg—beg your pardon?” 

He continued to wheeze, and I waited for him to look up and quit fussing with the collar of his shirt.  My hold hadn’t been that tight, and it seemed the good doc was mocking me again.

“I assure you, Doctor, I’m not the baby’s father.  I didn’t know she was with child until I saw the blood on my sleeve.”

“It really doesn’t matter now anyway.  The girl lost the baby.”

“That girl, as you call her, has a name.  Her name is Molly.”

“Since you’re not her husband, then I shouldn’t be discussing the girl’s—excuse me—Molly’s case with anyone other than her immediate family.  Has Mr. Watson been notified of her condition?” 

I didn’t like this man at all.  He was sarcastic and condescending, and if I hadn’t choked him already …

“I’m as much Molly’s family as the Watsons are, Doctor.  She lived with my pa and my brother and me until—well, until just a few months ago when her guardianship changed over to the Watson’s.”

“Still, I’m afraid William and Martha are her caretakers at the present time, correct?”

I sighed, but I kept my temper in check.  I wasn’t looking for a fight.  I was only looking for the truth and if I were right in my thinking, there’d be hell to pay.

“The Watsons may be her current guardians, but I’ll guarantee you this, Doc; I’m not about to leave this office until I know everything there is to know about Molly, including exactly how a fifteen-year-old girl ended up in this condition in the first place.”

“Then I will tell you this, Mr. Cartwright.  I don’t like your attitude, but the girl’s in no condition to leave this office until I’m convinced the bleeding has stopped.  I’ll ask you one more time.  Is there any possibility you’re the baby’s father?”

I shook my head.  “No, I’m not the father, but I have a pretty good idea—“ I pulled in the reins before I said too much.  I didn’t know for sure, and I wouldn’t until I confronted Watson.  “I’m sure the truth will come out in the end.”

The doctor turned and started for the closed door separating the two of us from Molly’s room.  I wondered if she’d heard us talking.  I wondered if she was even awake.

“The Watsons will be devastated to find out what sort of girl they’ve planned to adopt, being so promiscuous and all.”

Tears burned my eyes, but this wasn’t the time to lose control.  I looked up at Dr. Reynolds.

“You’ve got it wrong, Doctor.  Molly’s not that kind of girl, and if I hear anything—if I hear any rumors spread throughout town about what sort of girl you think she is, then you have my solemn guarantee.  I’ll break every bone in your body.”

The doctor cleared his throat.  “I think it best if you leave now, Mr. Cartwright.  There’s no place for you here.”

“No, Doc.  You just don’t get it, do you?  I’m not leaving now or anytime soon.”

“What shall I tell the Watsons?”

“Tell them anything you want.” 

“But you must understand.  It’s common medical practice to only allow the family in to see the patient.”

“Doc, I may be the only family she’s got, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll let me walk through that door.”

“Have it your way for now, Mr. Cartwright, but you’re the one who’ll have to explain your actions to William and Martha Watson.  I won’t be held responsible when Mr. Watson comes after you in a court of law.”

I half-smiled at the young doctor.  “Don’t worry, Doc.  I assure you, I’ll do whatever’s right and proper when it comes to dealing with Watson and his court of law.”

I stood beside Molly’s bed.  I reached for her hand, and she held fast to mine as though I could save her from all the rotten things this world had to offer.  Her face was pale and lifeless.  This broken child, who’d only found moments of peace and happiness in her young life, had just suffered a miscarriage.  At only fifteen years old, Molly had suffered a lifetime of misery and despair.

Wearing a midnight-blue dress with matching ribbons in her hair, Molly had looked stunningly beautiful the night Hoss and I had been invited to supper.  If Watson was to blame for her condition, had it been the finer dresses Martha had made to showcase her young daughter?  Was it Molly’s presence inside the house that led him down that path, or was it the fact that I’d let him know everything about her past?  Was I to blame?

God, yes. 

All these months, Watson must have thought Molly and I’d been together in that special way, and now it was his turn—my, God.  How could I have been so blind?  Had I offered her up for the taking?  Had I led him to believe she’d be willing to—was that the message he’d gotten from me, or had he twisted my words to suit his own physical needs?

When her eyelashes fluttered, I saw traces of the young girl I’d brought home nearly a year ago; so young and so afraid to trust any living soul.  She had faith in no one, and she had good reason, a lifetime of reasons, and I worked hard to change all of that.  I made sure she was safe from the world around her. 

But, as she saw things now, I’d turned my back on her when I’d sent her away.  I didn’t want her anymore, and I’d pawned her off on people I really didn’t know.  I’d promised she’d be safe, and I’d promised to visit.  I’d promised her a world of parties and girlfriends and handsome young men—a new life filled with promises I’d failed to keep.

She opened her eyes, and I smiled when she recognized my face. 

“I’m right here.  I won’t leave you, Molly.”

Another promise.  She should have laughed in my face, and she might have if she’d had the strength.  I circled my thumb over the back of her hand, just like my father had done with me so many times before.  I prayed the gentle motion might give her some comfort.  After all, I’d taken everything else away.

The door opened, and Dr. Reynolds stepped inside the room.  I turned my head slightly so he wouldn’t see my tears.  He’d wonder about our relationship, but I didn’t care.  I was through talking, through explaining to a man who refused to listen.

“I’ve sent word to the girl’s father.  Since she’s in my care, I felt he needed to know.  I’ll wait for him to arrive to explain the details.” 

Two days in a row, the girl defies me.  William strummed his fingers on his desk in agitation.  She hadn’t shown up at her regular time, and now, Arnold would be returning, and their lunch hour would be shot all to hell.  Tonight, she’d learn obedience.  Tonight, there would be punishment for her actions. 

He reached inside his desk for his pint of whiskey.  Drinking was for men who had no control over their lives.  They’d been words to live by at one time, but as he reached over his shoulder to the sideboard and picked up a glass, he chuckled at words he’d once thought of other, less capable men.

The room was dark.  He’d readied his office for her arrival by pulling the drapes, separating the two lovers from the outside world, but now the room held only lingering shadows of another day wasted.  He held the glass to his lips and sipped slowly.  The low-burning lamp accentuated the brilliant sheen of his mahogany desk, but the dim light also showed unopened folders, work to be done, but work that would have to wait for another day.

Logic told him to wrap his mind around business or lose out to a better man.  Never before had he left for tomorrow what should have been accomplished before day’s end, but the drive, the deep-seated determination that had kept him alert and aggressive, now left him hopeless and uncaring.  The girl had ambushed his thinking; his ambition to thrive in a cutthroat world no longer existed. 

He poured a second drink.  His pride and his principles were slipping away.  He had always been an honest man; some had called him honorable and righteous throughout the years, and, truth be told, he always had been a good and decent citizen, and he’d prided himself on his standing in the community.  He’d won awards:  Businessman of the Year was his most prized.

Movement sounded in the outer office, and he quickly hid his bottle and emptied his glass.  He rushed to the windows and threw back the heavy drapes.  Light poured in and, because he’d grown accustomed to the darkness, he averted his eyes.  There was a knock on his office door.

He straightened the tails of his vest and stood tall.  “Come in.”

“A boy just delivered this note, Sir.  It’s addressed to you.”

“Thank you, Arnold.  That’ll be all.”

Watson barged through the front door.  He looked wide-eyed for the doc.  His face was flushed, and his voice was breathy and uncontrolled.  “I received your note, Doctor.  What’s this all about?”

“I’m glad you came quickly, Mr. Watson.  Your daughter’s in the back room, and I assure you, she’s resting comfortably.”

“What do you mean by resting?  Why is she here?” 

Although Dr. Reynolds was young, he’d learned quickly how to accommodate most everyone and every situation.  Watson was distraught, and he would handle the man with kid gloves, proving he was as capable as old Doc Wilson, who’d just retired his practice.  The last thing he wanted to do was anger one of Carson’s leading citizens.

“Let’s step inside my office, Mr. Watson.”

“I don’t have time for this, Reynolds.  Just get on with it, will you?”

“Yes, sir.  This is a rather sensitive matter, and I believe it should only be discussed behind closed doors.  Now, I’m willing to make an exception—“

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Sir?”

“First, you drag me down here and secondly, you aggravate me with your brand of mumbo-jumbo I couldn’t care less about.  Just get to the point, Doctor.”

“Maybe we should have your wife join us before I begin.”

“No.  Absolutely not.  You will not bother my wife with a bunch of double talk.”

“All right, then I regret to say your daughter has suffered a miscarriage.”

William tilted his head forward and spoke softly.  “Say that again?”

“Your daughter was with child, possibly two or three months along, but she’s not anymore.”

William studied the young doctor’s face.  The man was ridiculing him, but right now, he had more important things to consider.  Martha must never know.  All this talk of miscarriages needed to stop right here in this office.

“Who else knows about this, Reynolds?”

“Well, Mr. Watson, that’s another thing we need to discuss.”

“What does that mean?  Does someone else know about the girl?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t beat around the bush, Doctor.  Who else knows?”

“A man named Cartwright.”

“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Sir?”

William corrected his posture.  He stood tall and tugged at his vest.  The doctor was a tall, lanky man, and William was forced to look up and meet his eyes.

“Where’s Cartwright now?”

“He—he’s inside the room with your daughter.“

William feigned shock at the doctor’s statement.  Quickly, he formed a plan he could use against Joe Cartwright.  By insinuating that Joe was the baby’s father, William’s name would never be mentioned in association with the girl’s health issues.  He nearly let a smile slip when he realized how easily boldfaced lies could pass as truths when needed.

“You mean you left that man, that degenerate, alone with my daughter?”

“I didn’t know, sir.  He carried her into my office and—“

“I don’t care what he did, he’s been carrying on with her for months, months, I tell you.  That’s why my wife and I have custody.”

“I didn’t know.”  Reynolds pleaded with Watson to understand.  “How could I have known he’s the one who’s been, shall we say, overly friendly with your daughter?”

William smiled internally.  The seed had been planted, and now all he had to do was see it through.  Foremost, he needed to speak with Molly.  She had to be cautioned.  She had to understand the consequences if she didn’t go along with the story.  Joe was the father of her baby.  That’s what he would tell the sheriff, and with Molly backing up his story, all was good and he was off the hook.

“Joe Cartwright is the father.  Martha and I tried so hard to keep him away from our daughter, but from the very start, there were problems.  My God.  She’s only fifteen years old.  The man is an animal.”

“This is a very unfortunate situation, Mr. Watson.  Had I known, I never would have allowed him inside her room.”

“You’re not to blame, Doctor.  You did what you thought was right; any man would have done the same in your situation.”

William wanted to pat himself on the back.  His lies had come forth as smooth as butter, and the doc fell for every word he’d said.  Clearly, he was innocent of any wrongdoing, and Joe Cartwright would take the blame and pay the price for his daughter’s unfortunate situation.  He hid his smile; he had to keep his mind on track.

“What does the law say about this?”  William was determined to see this through to the end.  “This is rape,” he answered his own question.  “Pure and simple, and the sheriff should be the next one to know what’s happened.”

“What about Cartwright?  He was rather forceful, sir, and I doubt I’ll be able to make him leave your daughter.”

“Good,” he said.  “Keep him here while I go for the sheriff.”

“But wouldn’t you like to go inside and—”

Reynolds hadn’t finished his question before Watson had fled the office, leaving the door to slam behind him.

Sheriff Amos Dobbs had been Carson City‘s lawman for the past thirteen years.  He was a wise man and a fair man.  In his younger days, he rode with the Texas Rangers, and even though those days were long gone, and gray tinged the edges of his dark, brown hair, he had a good head on his shoulders.  And when William Watson stormed into his office, he lay down his pencil and looked up at the irate man.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Watson?”

“You can arrest Joe Cartwright, Sheriff.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” he said.  “You mean Joe Cartwright of the Ponderosa?”

“That’s the one, Dobbs, and don’t think just because he’s got a rich daddy, he can’t be guilty of a crime.”

“I agree wholeheartedly, but what’s Cartwright done that would give me call to arrest him?”

“My fifteen-year-old daughter is lying in Dr. Reynolds office as we speak.  Do you want to know why?  I’ll tell you.”  William hammered his fist on Dobbs’ desk.  “Because Joe Cartwright took advantage of her.  Because Joe Cartwright impregnated my daughter, and she’s just now suffered a miscarriage.  Is that enough for an arrest, Sheriff?”

This Joe Cartwright story didn’t sound right at all.  He’d known all the Cartwrights for years.  Joe might be a lady’s man, but he’d never have call to take advantage of someone’s young daughter.

“Are you sure, Watson?  I find this very hard to believe.”

“My daughter is fighting for her life, and if she dies . . .”

“Hold on, Watson.  When did all this happen, and why do you think it has anything to do with Joe Cartwright?”

“You don’t believe me, do you?  Not the son of Ben Cartwright.  No, not his boy.”

“You listen up,” Dobbs said angrily.  He stood from his chair and stared at man in front of him.  “I don’t care whose son it is.  If he’s committed a crime, I’ll bring him in.  Don’t you dare tell me how to do my job.”

“Then you’re going to arrest him?”

Amos picked up his gunbelt and buckled it low on his hips.  He reached for his hat.

“Is Joe in town?”

“Of course he is.  He’s down at Doc’s with—” 

“—with your daughter?”

“No—no—not alone with her.  I mean the doc’s keeping him there until you arrest him.  Now let’s go!”

Even though he’d slipped and said too much, William had brushed over his mistake and Dobbs had taken his word as truth.  His story was becoming more credible by the minute, and Joe Cartwright would soon be behind bars—maybe even sent to prison.  An inward sense of peace moved through him when he considered embellishing the story even more.

Ending Cartwright’s random visits would give him a freedom he hadn’t known before and suddenly, he felt reborn.  It was an odd way of looking at things, but he’d overheard Martha talking about being reborn in the eyes of God.   Surely, the word had more than one connotation.  Yes, he truly felt reborn.

Molly hadn’t disobeyed him at all.  She couldn’t have come today.  She was sick, and since Cartwright had been in town, he’d become the perfect scapegoat for all of William’s problems.  He could handle Martha.  She was only a minor complication.  Besides, she’d never leave him; even if she found out, her life was too complete to throw away over something as trivial as a little indiscreet dalliance with a girl who could never prove her worth to a gentleman suitor.

Molly slept, though fitfully, after Reynolds had given her a small dose of sleeping powders.  I had pulled a wooden chair up next to the bed, guarding her from Watson and anything he might say or do.  She was restless, and I’d taken her hand in mine if only let her know someone cared, that life wasn’t always as bad as it seemed.  As her lashes began to flutter, I gripped her hand until her eyes opened fully.

“Hi,” I said softly.  A single tear slipped from her eye as she searched for my voice; I leaned in closer to her face.  “No, darlin’.”  I dabbed at the tear with the back of my fingers.  “I’m going to take care of you from now on, Molly.  No need for worries, okay?  Just rest.”

Her eyes closed briefly, and when they reopened, a bittersweet smile appeared, but it wouldn’t last.  “I hurt, Joe.”

“I know you do, darlin’, but it won’t last long.  The doc says you’ll be just fine.  You rest.  I’m staying right here until he says you can leave his surgery.”  But her eyes watered again, and she looked away.  “What, Molly?  Do you need the doctor?”

“No,” she mumbled.  “It’s just—“

“—what?  Just what, Molly?”

“Please, Joe.  Don’t send me back.”

“Oh, Molly, I won’t ever send you back.  You’re coming home with me to the Ponderosa.”

She pulled her hand from mine and reached for her belly, trying to massage away the cramps and the tearing sensation she felt.  “Joe?”

“What, Molly?”

“Don’t let him in here with me.  Please, don’t let him . . .” 

“I won’t, Molly.  I promise.  I won’t leave you.”

Her eyelids dipped again, only this time they didn’t reopen.  Knowing the pain Watson had caused burned through me like fire.  I should have questioned Pa further.  I should have known more about the man before I ever let Molly leave the Ponderosa.  I should have done a lot of things differently, but I had to leave the past behind and find solutions for Molly’s future.  Pa wouldn’t question me this time.  He’d back up any decision I made concerning this tortured child.

The door opened wide, and the doctor stepped inside the room.  “There’s someone to see you, Mr. Cartwright.”

“I won’t leave her alone,” I whispered now that Molly had fallen back to sleep.  “Who wants to see me?”

Reynolds stood tall as he walked into the room and faced me head-on.  He had an air of confidence he’d been lacking when we’d first met.  He seemed cocky and sure of himself, and he didn’t bother to argue after I’d made my position clear.

“Mr. Watson and Sheriff Dobbs are here, Mr. Cartwright, and it would be best if you stepped outside the surgery to speak to those two gentlemen.”

“I will speak to the sheriff, but not until you promise you won’t let Watson step foot inside this room.  He can’t be trusted, Doctor.”

“But, Mr. Cartwright, he’s the girl’s father.”

“Not anymore,” I said louder than I’d intended.  “Just do as I ask, Doctor.”

I turned back to Molly and realized I’d wakened her.  God how I hated to leave, but I had to resolve things with Dobbs.  He had to know the situation or Molly would never be safe from the likes of Watson.  I leaned in close and whispered in her ear.

“I need to step outside the door and talk to the sheriff.  I’ll only be a few minutes, all right?”

Molly glanced at the doctor and back to me.  “What about my father?  Please don’t let him—“

“Doc?  Do you understand now?  Molly doesn’t wish to see her father, and it’s your job to protect her and keep her safe.”

“I’ll escort you out, Mr. Cartwright.  You just leave the girl’s welfare to me.”

Although I didn’t have a good feeling, I tucked Molly’s hand under the blanket and let Dr. Reynolds follow me to the outer office where Watson and Sheriff Dobbs stood waiting.

“Joe Cartwright,” Dobbs said, extending his hand.  “Long time no see.”

“Sheriff.  Good to see you, too.”

My eyes shifted to Watson.  “Don’t even think of going in that room.  Molly’s asleep, and you’re the last person she wants to see.  Go home.  Go home to your wife and tell her exactly what kind of man you are.”

“I demand to see my daughter, Sheriff.”

“Daughter?”  Holding my temper in check was one thing, and maybe I could control my fists, but I couldn’t keep my feelings hidden from a man as vile as Watson.  “You have the balls to call Molly your daughter after what you’ve done to her?  What kind of man are you, Watson?”

“Who gives you the right to talk to me like that, Cartwright?”

The sheriff made his way between the two of us and held out his hands to silence what could have easily erupted into a full-fledged war. 

“That’s enough, Boys.  I know tempers are high, but this isn’t the place.  Joe, I want you to come with me.  There’s been a complaint, and it’ll be best if we sort this out in my office rather than here at Doc’s.”

“I won’t say this again, Watson.  Get the hell away from Molly before I—” I glanced at Dobbs, and after taking a deep breath, I turned back to Watson.  “Just get the hell outta here.”

I turned my attention to Reynolds.  “Don’t you dare let him inside Molly’s room.”

Dobbs let his hand rest on my shoulder, and he, too, spoke to the doctor.  “For now, let’s keep everyone away from the girl.  I’m sure she needs her rest.  I’ll stop back later, Doc, and we’ll discuss what happens next.”

“But I’m the girl’s father,” Watson whined.  “Have I no rights?”

“Right now, no you don’t.  Not until this matter is cleared up and I know both sides of the story.  Is that understood?”

“You’re the law, at least for now.   I have no choice, do I?” 

Dobbs and I watched Watson storm out of the doc’s office and slam the front door.

Dobbs and I entered the sheriff’s office.

“Have a seat, Joe.  Coffee?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Lifting an old tin pot from the stove, he poured two cups.  “Let’s liven this up a bit,” he said with a wink. 

He pulled a pint bottle from his desk drawer, poured two fingers into my cup, and added a finger’s worth to his own.  He set the half-full bottle down and moved to a rickety wooden chair behind his desk.

“Guess it’s seen better days,” he said after the old chair cracked and whined in protest when he sat down.

I smiled but didn’t comment.

“Joe, I’ve known you and your family for a long time.  I’ve always regarded your father as one of the most respectable men I’ve ever known.”

“Thanks, Amos.  You’re right on the money where my pa’s concerned.”

“Now,” Dobbs said, leaning forward over his desk.  “Just before Watson and I came to Docs, he came barging into my office and ordered me to arrest you.”

“Arrest me?  For what?”

“He’s calling it rape, Joe.  Watson says you’re the baby’s father.”

“Rape?”  I nearly fell off my chair.  “That’s perfect, isn’t it?  He wants to accuse me of what he’s been doing since the day that child walked through his door.  I give the man credit, Amos.  He picks an outsider as the most likely suspect, a man who’s not readily known here in Carson.  He figures local residents saw me carry Molly to the docs, bleeding and nearly passed out from the pain.  It makes me a sure candidate, doesn’t it?”

“Yep, it sure does.  I’ll admit, I don’t know Watson that well, let’s just say we don’t run in the same circles, but he doesn’t seem like the type who would take advantage of—“

“—but he did, Sheriff,” I said.  “That little girl, who’s lying in Reynolds’ surgery, just suffered a miscarriage, and I’ll bet you a year’s pay, Watson’s the father.”

“It’s his word against yours, Joe.”

“Fine.  Then I’ll prove it was him.”

“And just how do you plan to do that?”

“Ask Molly.  She’ll tell you the truth, and she’s the one who can put Watson behind bars.”

“Joe, it’s not that simple.”

“What’s not?”

“A father can’t be punished for having relations with his daughter.”

“What?  You’re saying nothing can be done to Watson?”

“That’s right.  I’m sorry, Joe.”

“Wait—she’s not his daughter yet.  The final adoption papers haven’t come through.”

“But the Watsons are her legal guardians, right?”

I let out a long, slow breath.  “So what happens now?”

“I’m gonna have to lock you up?”

“I hope you’re joking, Amos.”

“I’m sorry, Joe.  It’s Watson’s word against yours, and he’s the girl’s legal custodial guardian.  He’s accused you of rape, which means we’re gonna have to take this in front of a judge.”

“So what happens to Molly while I rot in jail?”

“She’ll have to go back home when she’s able.”

“Oh, God.  You know what will happen if she goes home, don’t you, Amos?”  I was pleading for her life, but Watson had the law on his side, and he’d been the first to accuse.

“It’s the law, Joe.  Nothing I can do but keep a close watch on Watson and the girl until the circuit judge comes through town.”

“Can I at least wire my father?”

“You write it out, and I’ll send it.  Sorry it has to be this way, Son.  Hand me your pistol.” 

William plowed through the front door of his statuesque Victorian home.  His body was rigid with anger, and he’d blasted the name Joe Cartwright and this situation with Molly until he was safe within the confines of his own home.  He reached for his crystal decanter and filled a short glass with brandy.  A gentleman would have sipped and enjoyed the sweet but bitter taste as it warmed his mouth and stomach, but reasoning out a situation he had no control over had distracted him and brought every nerve to the surface.  He was losing control, but had to remain strong and hold true.  He’d have to remember every detail he’d told the sheriff.  A lesser man might crumble under the pressure, but he proved himself a fighter—”The Bull” would emerge when called upon—and he would not fail to perform when necessary.

“Is that you, Dear?”

“Yes, Martha.” 

He held the empty glass, a vice of sorts to steady his hand as Martha rounded the corner from the kitchen.  She wiped her hands on her apron before she stopped and kissed her husband on the cheek.

“I didn’t expect you this early, Dear.  My goodness, it’s not even three o’clock.”

William turned and set his glass on a nearby table.  “I have distressing news, Martha.  Let’s sit down to talk.”

“You’re feeling all right, aren’t you, Dear?  You look pale.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, no.  Does it concern Molly?”

“Yes it does, but come on, let’s sit down.  I’ll pour us a drink.”

William poured his wife a small glass of brandy.  Martha wasn’t one to drink often, but if there were ever a time, it would be today.  He hadn’t been much of a drinker either until lies and deception had consumed his life. 

“I’ll make this as easy as I can for you.”

“Oh, William, what’s happened?”

“Molly is at the doctor’s office.”  Martha flinched, a normal reaction, but William hesitated before he continued.  “Our young daughter suffered a miscarriage this afternoon.”

Martha covered her mouth; her hand trembled.  Her eyes glistened with tears as she glanced up the stairs toward Molly’s room as though nothing was amiss—her daughter moved gracefully down the stairway wearing her peach-colored dress and entered the parlor slowly, as she’d been taught to do.  Molly—a young woman ready for coming-out parties and gala events where Martha would stand by her side, prideful and accepting her reward for her accomplishments—would not disappoint her family in that way.

“There’s more, Martha, and I beg you to listen to what I have to say.”

His wife didn’t speak; she only stared as though her mind had drifted elsewhere, and he cupped her face, turning her eyes to meet his. 

“I must present the facts as they appear right now, and the fact is Joe Cartwright was the baby’s father.  I’ve taken care of everything, Martha.  Young Cartwright is behind bars, and a trial will be set with the circuit judge.”

Martha hadn’t moved, but she’d heard William’s voice and his lies, and she began humming just loud enough to distract herself from all the untruths he’d brought into their home.

“Now, I know this is difficult for you, and I’ll take care of everything so you needn’t worry about the details.  Molly will be home soon, and I want you to act like none of this mess took place.  No one has to ever know what our daughter has been through.”

“I don’t believe you.” 

“I know this comes as a shock, Martha, but we’ll survive and Molly will survive, and believe it or not, my heart goes out to Ben.  He’s always believed in those sons of his, and he tried to be a decent father, but when he realizes what kind of man his youngest turned out to be, I can’t imagine the heartbreak he’ll be forced to endure.”

Martha had let William rattle on, and when she spoke, she only had one question. 

“When will Molly be home?” 

“I’m not positive, dear, but I’ll check with Dr. Reynolds later tonight.  Molly’s resting now and will probably spend the night at the doctor’s.  Maybe that’s what you should do, too.  Get some rest and everything will look brighter tomorrow.”

“Yes, things always seem brighter come daybreak, don’t they, William?”

“Thanks, Sammy.  This here’s for your trouble,” Hoss said, placing a coin in the young boy’s hand.  “Hey, why ain’t you in school?”

Sammy Billows tossed the coin in the air and caught it behind his back.  He was all of ten years old and served as the telegrapher’s errand boy more often than not.

“Gotta make a livin’, Mr. Hoss.”

“All right.  You take care, you here?”  Hoss closed the front door and hollered towards the staircase at Ben.  “Pa?  Hey Pa, we got a telegram from Joe.”

Ben moved down the stairs after hearing Hoss bellow loud enough to scare feathers off a chicken.  “Supper,” he mumbled, irritated by Joe’s lack of timekeeping abilities.  “Promised he’d be home before supper.”

Hoss stood at the base of the stairs, waiting for his father.

“Did you read it, Son?”

“Yeah, but I think you should read it yourself.”  He handed the paper to his father.

Ben Cartwright, Ponderosa Ranch (stop)

Jailed in Carson (stop)

Need your help (stop)

Joseph Cartwright (stop)

“What’s he done now?” Ben grumbled.  “Saddle the horses, Son.  It’s a long ride.”

William Watson sat behind his desk.  The afternoon’s light had faded to dusk and then total darkness, and he hadn’t bothered to light the lamps.  His heart hadn’t quit racing since the messenger boy had come to his office and delivered the handwritten message.  Although he’d been quick to render his side of the story, he’d not been prepared for anything as disturbing as the girl’s condition.  So many years spent with a barren wife had not prepared him for such an outcome. 

He stared into the open room where the furnishings Martha had ordered from as far away as Boston and New York meant nothing if Joe Cartwright wasn’t convicted and out of his life forever.  Martha had remained upstairs, and when he finally went up to check on her, he found her sitting in her rocker, staring at a tintype they’d had made when Molly had first become part of their family.

William filled an empty glass with water and took a pill from Martha’s cameo box.  “Here, take this, Dear.”  She took the tiny sedative without complaint, and he gently lifted her up from the chair and guided her toward their bed.  “You sleep now.  I’m going to step outside for a breath of fresh air.  I might even check in at the doc’s and see how our girl’s doing tonight.”

After drinking the last of his brandy, he shook off the burn in his chest before he walked out the front door.  Needing to make sure his daughter understood the consequences if she didn’t convincingly accuse Joe Cartwright of attacking her, he took quick steps toward the doctor’s office.  He’d had no problem convincing the doctor of Joe’s guilt, and he was sure Dobbs had believed him, too.  As a worried father, he had every right to visit his daughter, and as he knocked on Reynolds’ front door, he was confident the young man would let him in, no questions asked.

“Mr. Watson,” Reynolds said, opening the door wide to accommodate his late-night visitor.  “Won’t you come in?” 

“I have to say, Doctor, Martha has been beside herself since I told her what had happened to our Molly.  I had to give her a sedative and put her straight to bed.”

“I understand what you’re going through, Sir.  It’s quite a tragedy, having to face such a dilemma with a girl so young.”

“Martha and I are confident we can keep this matter hush-hush as far as anyone else knowing about the situation with young Cartwright.  It’s all so tragic, but Martha and I feel we can move on and try to put the unspeakable shame behind us.”

“No need to worry about Cartwright, Mr. Watson.  Sheriff Dobbs carted him away earlier, and I have to assume, since he hasn’t been back to cause more trouble, the man is where he rightfully belongs, behind bars.  After he attacked me earlier, I’m quite relieved to know he’s locked inside a cell.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”  Maybe he could relax now and not feel so threatened by Molly’s situation.  “Might I see my daughter for just a minute.  Her mother and I are so worried, and after everything that’s happened today, I’d just like to reassure her we’ll stand behind her no matter what.”

“You’re a good man and a caring father, Mr. Watson, and what the sheriff doesn’t know won’t hurt, will it, Sir?”

“Thank you, Doctor.  We’ll keep this little visit just between the two of us.  I’m not about to go running to Dobbs and explain how mothers and fathers care about their children or how they’ll fight to protect them from the evil in this world.”

Dr. Reynolds opened the door to the surgery.  He’d helped his patient to a more comfortable bed so she could sleep out the night and be ready to join her family the following morning.  He lit a lamp and turned the wick down low. 

“If you should need anything, sir, I’ll be in my office.”  After leaving William alone with Molly, he knew the girl was in good hands.

William neared the bed and sat down on its edge next to Molly.  He stared at her sleeping form before picking up her hand and holding it in his.  She moved only slightly, but she mumbled a single word that was poison to his ears.

“Joe?”

He realized, in her current state, his words weren’t going to be heard or understood.  Like Martha, she’d been given something to help her sleep, and he’d have to return early tomorrow and settle the matter before Dobbs questioned her.

How easily he’d become obsessed, and how easily she’d driven him to act improperly.  His life, his career, and his marriage had all suffered, yet her youthfulness and tales of her past had led him down a path he’d not ever considered before.  Fantasies had become reality, and he wouldn’t forfeit a minute or an hour of the pleasure she’d provided a simple man who had gathered confidence and pursued his dream.

It was well after ten o’clock in the evening when Ben and Hoss rode into Carson City and tied their mounts in front of the sheriff’s office.  “Will you stable the horses, Son, while I find out what this is all about?”

“No, Sir, I’m coming in with you.  Joe’s my little brother, and I need to know just how much trouble he’s gotten hisself into this time.”

Ben smiled.  Hoss rarely made demands, but Ben understood.  “You’re right.  The horses can wait.”

Amos had heard the Cartwrights ride up, and he walked outside to greet them.

“Been expecting you two.  Come on in and get out of the cold.”

Ben and Hoss climbed the three wide stairs to Dobbs’ office, and Hoss closed the door behind them.  A light drizzle had dampened their clothes, and Dobbs’ warm stove provided just what the two men needed.  But Ben didn’t hesitate to get right to the point.

“Well, Amos?”  Ben slapped his hat against his right thigh, relieving the brim of remnants of rain.  “What’s this all about?”

“Have a seat, Ben.  You’re not gonna like what I have to say, so you might as well get comfortable.

“Just say it.  Don’t mix words, Amos.  I’m tired and I’ve missed my supper.  Now what’s this all about?”

“Just hold your horses, Ben, and I’ll tell you the whole story.”

“Mind if I see my son first?”

“Let’s hold off until I explain what’s been happening.  Please, take a seat.”

Ben sat in the chair in front of Dobbs’ desk and crossed his legs.  “Is Joseph hurt?”

“No, he’s fine.  Not a mark on him.”

Amos had coffee simmering on the stove.  He’d figured out how long it would take a courier to get a message out to the Ponderosa and how long it would take Ben to ride to Carson, and he’d calculated right.  Though he hadn’t expected to see Hoss, he was glad for Ben’s sake, the big man had come along.  He pulled the pint bottle from his desk drawer.

“Anyone?”  Hoss grinned and nodded his head; Ben agreed to the addition of whiskey also.  “That’s the way your youngest likes it, too.”  Amos handed them both hot, tin cups and returned to his chair behind the desk.

“If I could just see Joseph for a minute …”

“You’re a stubborn man, Ben Cartwright.  Leave the Colts on my desk.  You know that young son of yours has his own brand of stubbornness and spunk.” 

Ben glared at the sheriff as he removed his pistol and laid it on the desk.  “That spunk, as you call it, has gotten that boy in trouble more often than not.  So, Amos, what’s the charge?”

Dobbs had just pulled the keys off the nail, but he turned back to Ben, looked him in the eye, and said one word only.  “Rape.”

Knowing Joe Cartwright wasn’t a flight risk or, in Amos Dobbs’ opinion, a danger to society, he released Joe to his father’s custody, and Ben promptly secured a suite for the night in one of the better hotels in town.  Since the sheriff had offered up the single word, “rape”, before releasing his prisoner and giving only a barebones description of the afternoon’s events, there was a considerable amount of explaining for Joe to do after they were settled in the hotel.

Ben and Hoss sat and listened, completely dumbfounded and extremely uncomfortable, as Joe’s story of William and Molly unfolded.  But Joe was resolute in his telling and left nothing to chance, as he described what Molly had suffered at the hands of Ben’s close and highly regarded friend, William Watson.  Even though Joe wasn’t aware of most of the details, he knew enough to inform his father that Molly would be coming back to live on the Ponderosa until she was of legal age.  Then it was up to her to make her own decisions. 

Although Ben hadn’t forgotten the reason for Molly’s exceptionally quick transfer from the Ponderosa into Watson’s hands, he didn’t argue with his son.  Somehow, they’d work things out.

It had been a sleepless night for everyone, and the three Cartwright men found themselves up early, dressed, and hungry for a decent meal.  Ben remembered how often he and William had dined at the hotel restaurant in the past, but he chose to disregard those old memories when they entered the small but ornate dining room for breakfast.

Guilt plagued Ben.  He’d been the one to recommend the Watsons.  After suggesting the new orphanage or having the Reverend Jamison look for suitable parents for the girl, he thought he’d found the perfect solution with this private adoption.  How could he apologize to Joe, much less Molly, after setting her up in such a situation?

“I don’t know what to say, son.  I don’t know how I can make up for the trouble I’ve caused.”

“Come on, Pa.  None of this is your fault.”

Joe remembered saying those same words to Hoss when they’d been caught in the storm just a few weeks ago.  He believed those words then, and for Molly’s sake, he believed those same words would hold true with their current situation.

“It’s no one’s fault.  Our situation changed, but you’re not to blame.  It’s not what we bargained for, that’s all.  We had good intentions, didn’t we?  A bright, sunny day turned into hell on earth, but we’re survivors, right?  Tomorrow—well, maybe not tomorrow, but in a couple of days, we’ll make our way back down the mountain.  For now, we make the best of a lousy situation.  Things could be worse, you know.  We could be dead.”

Tomorrow, they’d ride back to the Ponderosa and start over.  He’d had good intentions, but life took a turn—a bad turn for Molly.  If nothing else, she was a survivor, and he would show her the life she once knew, and he would make sure every day of her life was worth living.

“It’s not your fault either, Son.”

Joe’s mind had wandered.  “What’s that?”

“I said, don’t blame yourself, Joseph.”

“Right, Pa.  I’d like to believe that.”

“You better believe it before you take the stand, Joseph.  I’ll talk to Dobbs after we eat breakfast and see if he has a date set for the trial, but we’ll have to talk to Ed Geltner and make sure he’ll be able to get away and come down to Carson to defend you.”

“You listen to Pa, Joseph.”

“Maybe I should have you defend me,” Joe said.

“Leave me out of this.  Geltner’s just fine, Little Brother, and we won’t need any of Hop Sing’s Chinese customs this time, at least I hope we won’t.”

Joe thought about his run-in with Emile Younger a few years back.  He’d been accused of killing the man, but Hop Sing’s chops—fingerprints—had saved him from the gallows.  Hoss had stepped into Ed Geltner’s shoes and defended him before he had a noose stretched over his head. 

“Okay, big brother.  You’re off the hook for now.”

A young girl, close to Molly’s age and with the same zest for life, greeted them at the door and showed them to a table near the back of the dining room.  “This okay?”

“This is fine, thank you,” Ben replied.

“Can I bring you the special?  It’s steak and eggs.”

Ben glanced at his boys and nodded to the young girl.  “Yes, that will do just fine.”

After she returned with their coffee, Joe picked up his cup and studied his father.  “So, Pa, how much did Dobbs set you back to bail me outta jail?” 

Ben chuckled softly.  “Nothing, Joe.  Amos knows you weren’t the one who—well, that you didn’t have anything to do with Molly’s condition.” 

“I wasn’t sure if Dobbs believed me or not.  Watson’s story was pretty damn convincing.”

“I’m sure it was.  Son, I know what’s done is done, but I can’t help but feel I’m to—“

“That’s enough, Pa; I’ve said it before.  It’s not your fault.  I don’t blame you, and Molly won’t either.  It happened, and it’s over.  Okay?”

“I know, but I can’t stop thinking about that poor child and all she’s been through, but I’ll tell you one thing, and I mean this, Joe.  From now on, you’re in complete charge of Molly’s life.  You’ll get no interference from me.”

Joe smiled at his father.  “Thanks, Pa.”

When breakfast was served, Hoss was the first to pick up his knife and fork, but there was a loud commotion out on the street, and everyone inside the restaurant turned to look out the front windows. Ben and Joe wondered why their young waitress was running out the front door.

“What’s goin’ on?”  Hoss said.  He looked up from his steak and eggs.

When the young girl returned, Ben waved his hand, signaling her to their table.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she said breathlessly.  “May I get you folks anything else?”

“No—no, we’re fine, but what was all the ruckus about?”

“A murder,” she said in a calmer voice.  “A girl from school has just been found dead and—”

Joe’s napkin dropped from his lap to the floor as he shot up from his chair and out the front door before the girl had even finished her sentence.  Ben was hesitant to ask, but he had to know. 

“May I ask your friend’s name?” 

“She’s new, and I believe the teacher addressed her as Molly.”

Even though Reynolds’ office was only a block south of the hotel, Joe couldn’t extend his legs fast enough when he saw the sizeable crowd of onlookers whose curiosity had lured them to congregate outside the doctor’s front door.  He managed to thrust himself through the tightly knit crowd, elbowing and shouldering anyone who stood in his way.

Dobbs had a tall, solid build, and he stood on the steps in front of the doctor’s office.  His hands rose high in the air, forcing the mob of speculating men and women alike to move away from the doctor’s door.

“Back away now, people.”  Joe heard Dobbs’ voice over the low hum of the crowd.  “All the details will be in tomorrow’s paper, so move along and let me get on with my job.”

Joe was catching his breath when he planted his boots on a step just below the sheriff.  “Don’t even think about sending me away, Amos.”

Dobbs ignored Joe.  He stood above him and, with his hands still raised over his head, he managed to clear the excited crowd with his straightforward tone of voice.  “No more excitement here, folks.  Let’s move along.”

He turned back to Joe, but out of the corner of his eye, he noted Ben and Hoss barreling down the boardwalk as if they, too, were as anxious as Joe to have answers.

“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching out with a sympathetic touch to Joe’s shoulder.  “Why don’t we step inside?”

By now, Ben and Hoss had arrived, and in that instant, Ben’s heart nearly broke for his youngest son.  Hoss dipped his head: he knew his brother’s pain without having to see the look of sadness reflected in Joe’s eyes.

“Joe?” 

“Not now, Pa.”

Sheriff Dobbs led all three men into Reynolds’ private office, where everyone took seats except Joe, who stood, twisting the brim of his hat with both hands while trying to keep his emotions in check. 

“I’ll let the doctor explain,” Amos said, thankful he wouldn’t have to give details of the young girl’s passing.

Dr. Reynolds glanced sideways at the sheriff and whispered, “Isn’t Joe Cartwright a suspect?”

Dobbs shook his head at the young doctor, “No, Doctor, he’s not.”

“But, I thought—”

Dobbs glared at the doctor.  “Just start at the beginning and tell us everything you know.”

“Okay, Sheriff.  If that’s what you want, but I—“

“Please, Doctor.”

“Well, it must have been 9:30/10:00 o’clock, and there was a knock at the door.  It was Mr. Watson, and so, naturally, I let him inside.”

“Didn’t I tell you no one was to see the girl?” 

Joe lunged forward, and Amos and Ben each grabbed an arm to hold him back.  “Joseph!”  Ben said forcefully.  “Joseph, that’s enough.”  Joe glared at his father; his eyes were filled with so much anger and hate that it frightened Ben.  “Calm down or I’ll have Amos lock you back in that cell.”

Reynolds took a step back and covered his throat as if Joe had grabbed at him a second time.  Amos let go of Joe’s arm and stood next to the doctor so Reynolds could finish relaying his story.  “Go on, Doc.”  Amos stared at Joe.  “There won’t be any more trouble, will there, Joe?”

“No, Sir.”

Reynolds’ eyes never left Ben, and the hold he had on his son.  “As I was saying, the girl was—”

“The girl has a name, you sonuva—”

“Joseph.  Be quiet.”

With the sheriff by his side, the threat of Joe Cartwright attacking him again was slim, but Reynolds still spoke hesitantly.  “Molly died sometime during the night.  There were no complications, and I’d planned to send her home to her family this morning.  There was no bruising and no apparent wound.  The only thing I can’t rule out for sure is suffocation.”

“What more proof do you need, Sheriff?”  Joe threatened.  “Watson was here, and Molly’s dead.”

“Easy, Joe,” Dobbs said.  “I’m on my way out to Watson’s now.  They may not even know about this yet.”

“Oh, that’s good, Amos,” Joe said sarcastically.  “I’m sure the killer will leap right out and confess everything.”

Amos held his tongue.  “I want you to wait at the hotel with your father.  You’ll be the first to know what I find out as soon as I have all the facts.”

“I’m okay, Pa.”

Ben released Joe’s arm.  “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”  Joe looked up.  “Sorry, Amos.”

“I know.  You go on now.”

“Amos?  May I see Molly first?”

Dobbs glanced at Reynolds, then turned toward Ben.  “Keep your boy in line, Ben.”

“Don’t worry about Joe.”

“Good.  I want everyone out of here before I get back, understood?”

“We’ll only stay a minute, then we’ll head over to McMurphy’s,” Ben said.  “Why don’t you meet us there when you’re finished?”

“I need to do this alone, Pa.”

“We’ll wait here, Son.  Take your time.”

 A corner lamp burned low, and the window shade had been drawn to the sill.  The finality of death filled the room.  Forever silent and unmoving, she lay with a white sheet covering all but her face as though she were only resting for a time, not for eternity. 

I stood over the bed, and even though her eyes were forever closed, I could picture her brown, doe-like orbs and the way they sparkled when she smiled.  When she skipped stones across the lake or cheered me on when the toughest bronc nearly had me whipped and thrown to the ground, she continued to whoop and holler, and her encouragement gave me the strength I needed to hang on.

Her waiflike features would stay with me forever.  The little girl who’d pinched her lip as I rode away from the cabin.  That final look over my shoulder had been the catalyst that forced my return and my decision to bring her home to the Ponderosa, where she’d be cared for in a loving way.

Oddly enough, I thought of the cabin again—the one Hoss and I’d been trapped in and waited for the storm to lift because no other options were available.  Had Molly felt that way her whole life?  Had she waited for the storm to lift, but knew it never would?  How trapped and forlorn she must have felt when I sent her away.

I wiped the back of my hand across my eyes.  Molly was finally at peace, but at what cost?  I’d turned my back on her, at least that was her perception, and I’d never forgive myself for not acting sooner.  Had I listened to my own heart instead of adhering to what everyone else insisted was the right thing to do, she might still be alive today.  I would share in the blame for her death as much as the man who’d silenced her forever.

I’d pulled her from the ashes of hell only to sentence her to a new life of torment and degradation, and I would carry the shame she must have felt for the rest of my life.  Molly’s life was over.  She was at peace.  The world she knew was behind her, and she was in God’s hands for eternity.  I brushed the back of my hand down Molly’s cheek, and I said my final goodbye.

“Sleep tight, Princess.”

The three Cartwright men left Reynolds’ office together.  Words needn’t be spoken as they crossed the street to McMurphy’s.  Flanked by his Pa and big brother, whose moods patterned Joe’s, they took their time walking to the saloon if only to give all of them the time needed to collect themselves before music and sounds of laughter assaulted their senses. 

While Hoss had already missed two meals and his stomach growled in protest, he, too, found it hard to find the right words to say.  His brother was hurting, they all were, but Joe’s grief over Molly’s sudden death would last forever.  He wanted to break the ice, but he feared saying the wrong thing and causing his little brother to excuse himself rather than let his family help in some way.

Joe was like that sometimes.  He’d go off by himself to lick his wounds rather than talk out whatever problem existed.  Often, trouble would follow, and Hoss knew Joe needed to keep his head on straight and stay put until the sheriff returned to the saloon with answers.

Ben had ordered three steaks and three beers soon after they’d arrived.  It was no surprise that Joe’s had gone uneaten, and Ben offered the plate to Hoss. 

“No thanks, Pa,” Hoss said in return.  “Weren’t as hungry as I thought.”

With his hat pulled low over his forehead, Joe had leaned back in his chair and drank beer after beer while Ben and Hoss ate lunch.  By the time they were finished, Joe had nursed three and was signaling the barkeep for a fourth.

Their plates had been cleared and another round of drinks delivered before Dobbs walked through the batwing doors.  After motioning to the barkeep, Amos joined the three men at their table.  Dobbs took a long draw after Sally Ann, a close friend of Joe’s, delivered the sheriff’s beer.  He relayed all he knew so far.

“It seems as though Martha’s taken to her bed and isn’t talking to anyone.  I didn’t think it necessary to bother her with a whole passel of questions just yet. 

“Watson had just heard the news of Molly’s death, and he was rushing out the front door when I arrived.  I had him walk with me down to Pearson’s Mortuary to make the necessary arrangements, and I have to admit, Joe, the man seemed genuinely distraught over this whole ordeal.”

Joe’s head jerked up in disbelief.  “What are you saying, Amos?”

“Let me finish, Son.”

Joe braced himself against the back of the chair before signaling the barkeep for another round.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Joseph?”

A menacing laugh escaped.  “I’m just getting started, Pa.”

Ben shook his head, then motioned for Amos to continue.

“Watson admits he went to see Molly at around ten o’clock last night, but he also said she was alive when he left to return home.  He’s blaming you, of course,” Dobbs said, nodding at Joe.

“Why wouldn’t he?  He’s blamed me for everything else.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but I’m only relaying the facts.”

“So what happens now, Sheriff?”  Joe held out his wrists.  “You gonna arrest me and throw me back in jail?”

“Joseph, please.”  His son was hurting, but being disrespectful was one thing Ben wouldn’t tolerate from any of his sons, and he wasn’t about to sit and condone Joe’s ill-mannered behavior.

Dobbs let the comment slide.  He hoped his lighter side might lift Joe’s spirits.  “Only got one cell, Joe, and William Watson’s occupying it at the moment.”

“You arrested him anyway?”

“I did.”

Joe looked to his father and glanced quickly at Hoss, and he smiled, a genuine smile that brightened every inch of his face.  “Good.  You’ve made my day, Dobbs.”

“As far as I know right now, Watson was the last person to see Molly alive.  If I find proof to the contrary, I’ll move on from there.” 

“Thank you, Amos,” Ben said.  With watery eyes, he looked to his son and patted his arm, acknowledging that the world had finally been set right.

Dobbs set his empty glass down and, with his palms flattened on the table, he pushed himself up from the chair.  “Services are tomorrow, and I’m probably gonna have to let Watson attend.”  Dobbs saw the look in Joe’s eyes.  “No need for worry, the man will be cuffed in irons.”

Joe nodded his head.

“Oh, Ben, I wanted to ask you a favor.”

“Certainly.  What do you need, Amos?”

“Would you mind terribly, escorting Martha to the funeral tomorrow?  I hate to ask, but I don’t know if she’ll be up to making it to Pearson’s on her own, especially with her husband—well, you understand.”

“I’d be glad to, Amos.  What time is the service?”

“Ten a.m.”  Dobbs tapped his fingertips on the tabletop and nodded his head as a goodbye gesture.  “Right now, I’ve got work to do.  I’ll talk with all of you later.”

As Ben reflected, he considered the last time he’d been invited and accepted a dinner invitation from William and Martha Watson.  The dinner had taken place only weeks before any suggestion about Molly’s future had been presented to them.  They were a loving couple, and Martha was so proud of William and all of his many accomplishments in the world of business that the night with his friends had planted the seed in Ben’s mind.  

He recalled how Martha’s face glowed when anyone complimented the home her husband had provided for her.  Her elegant style and the fashionable décor she’d painstakingly sought after told the story of Martha, the proud and loving wife of William Watson.

So, as he cradled the mug of beer with both hands, Ben couldn’t help but feel a small ache of compassion for all parties involved.  How had a life of decency and contentment gone so wrong?  If, in fact, his long-time friend had done this terrible thing, what had come over the man?  He had a loving wife and beautiful house to come home to, so what had transformed him into the monster he’d become?

“What a damn mess,” Ben said aloud without realizing his mistake.

“And it’s my damn fault,” Joe replied with such raw emotion, Ben feared his son’s next move.  Though Molly was dead, word of Watson’s arrest had lightened everyone’s mood, but now, it was gone.  Joe slid his chair back, its wooden legs screeched against the plank floor, and he walked out of the saloon.

Before Ben and Hoss returned to the hotel, and even though the Watson home was only a few blocks away, Ben thought it best to send Martha a note.  He wanted to inform her he’d be glad to come by in the morning and serve as her escort to Molly’s service.  And when a young, dark-haired boy came strolling down the boardwalk as carefree as a summer’s day, Ben stopped him.  He introduced himself before asking if the boy would deliver a note to the Watson’s house.

“How much?”

“Excuse me?” 

“How much you paying, Mister?”

“How about a nickel?”

“How about a dime?”

“All right.  A dime it is, Young Man.”

Ben nearly chuckled but kept his comments to himself.  “Wait here with the boy, will you, Hoss?”

Ben hurried back into the saloon and asked for paper and a pencil, which cost him a second dime.  He scribbled out a note to Martha and returned to the boardwalk.  He handed the folded paper to the boy. 

“Now, I’m staying at the Asbury Hotel.  I’d like you to wait for a reply from Mrs. Watson.  I’ll have another dime waiting.”

“Sure thing, Mister.

Ben had sent Hoss to check the livery.  If Cochise was still boarded, Joe hadn’t left town.  The dark-haired boy, who’d demanded a dime for his efforts, was overdue bringing back an answer, and between the two—Martha’s slow response and his son’s disappearance—Ben had begun pacing the room.

Hoss stepped through the door of their suite and, after tossing his hat on the chair, reached into his vest pocket and handed his father a note.  “Cost me another ten cents,” he chuckled.  But after seeing the unpleasant look on his father’s face, he said no more.

Ben read the short but concise note: 

     Thank you, Ben, but no.

     Martha

“Bad news?”

Ben handed Hoss the note.  “I don’t know what to think, Son.”

“Maybe Dobbs was wrong about her wanting an escort to the service.”

“No, I’d say something else is wrong, although I’m not sure what it might be.”  Ben ran his index finger across his lower lip, then looked up at Hoss.  “I wish that brother of yours would get back.”

“How come when Joe’s behaving hisself he’s your son, but when he’s misbehaving, he suddenly becomes my brother?”

With his hat in his hands, Joe knocked on the Watsons’ front door.  Though he’d barely dodged a young boy racing down the front walkway, Martha greeted him with open arms.  She held a glass of spirits in her hand and seemed in a particularly jovial mood under the circumstances.

“Joseph Cartwright!  What in heaven’s name brings you to my doorstep?”

“I wondered if we might speak, Mrs. Watson.  It won’t take but a minute of your time.”

She swung the front door open, and in the process of trying to be gracious and in control, whiskey spilled from her glass, marring the brilliance of the marble entryway.  Joe sidestepped the mess and took hold of Martha’s arm to steady her.

“Let me help you, ma’am,” he said.  “Why don’t we sit in the parlor where we’ll be comfortable?”

“Do you care for a drink, Joseph?”

“No, I’m fine for now.” 

Though Joe tried to help her across the room, she insisted on refilling her glass first, and Joe kindly detoured to the sideboard and the near-empty container of whatever she was drinking.  Her slow, precise steps only caused her to sway, but he held her arm steady until they reached a flowered sofa so she could sit down.

“Cookie’s not going to be happy when she sees the mess I’ve made.  What’s the word, Joseph?  Ad—admonish.  Cookie should admonish me for spilling my drink, but she won’t do that.  She’ll clean up the mess, and she won’t mention a thing to my husband; she never tells tales out of school.”

Martha hadn’t bothered to dress.  She wore a flowing dressing gown, and she struggled to cover her legs properly after she’d taken her seat on the sofa.  Her hair had fallen from clips in a tangled web of curls framing her face.  Her red-rimmed eyes and swollen features proved the last few hours had been a struggle.

“My husband’s been arrested for murder.  Did you know that, Joseph?  You’re free to come and go as you pl—please, and William is sitting in a jail cell.  Sh—Sheriff Dobbs is his name.  He has it all wrong, doesn’t he?  William didn’t murder that girl, Joseph.  My husband is weak.  My husband is—“

“—Is what, Martha?  A decent man?  A pillar of the community?”

“Exactly.  Thank you, Joseph.”

Joe had spent half the afternoon planning his speech to Martha.  He wanted to set her straight on a few things, but in her drunken stupor, he wondered if he should say anything at all.  Prim and proper had gone by the wayside, and what she needed most was to sleep it off, not a lecture on the way her husband had treated his own daughter.

Joe stood to leave.  “I should go.”

Although she remained seated, Martha looked him straight in the eye.  “I’ve known all along.  You didn’t think I knew, but I know everything.”

Joe returned to his seat.  “Excuse me?”

“I know everything that goes on in his house, Joseph.  I’m not blind; I’m not deaf, and I’m certainly not stupid.”

How quickly Martha had sobered, and how convincing she became.  Joe had been caught off guard by her frankness and her willingness to speak the truth.

“I don’t understand, Mrs. Watson.  Why didn’t you speak up before?  I could have stopped him; I could have protected Molly.”

Martha realized what she’d said, and she struggled to her feet and picked up her drink before she spoke.  “It’s all your fault, Joseph Cartwright.  You brought that girl into our home, and you knew all along what would happen.  You knew what kind of girl she was, didn’t you?  You knew she’d flaunt her girlish charms in front of my husband until she found his weakness.  She worked her wiles, making him feel young again, young and ready to take on the world.  You’re condemning the wrong person, Joseph.  Don’t you dare blame my husband for what you did to my family.”

How could he argue with stupidity?  How could he talk sense to a woman who was delusional and too far gone to take note of anything he said?

“I think you should leave.  You’ve caused more trouble than—“

“I’ve caused trouble?”  Joe’s voice cracked, but he kept his temper in check.  “Say it, Mrs. Watson.  My husband killed Molly.”

“No, you’re wrong.”

“My husband seduced a fifteen-year-old girl.  Say it, Mrs. Watson.  Say the words out loud.”

“No, no, no, no!  La, la, la, la.  He loved Molly.  I loved Molly.”

“Love?  That’s what you call love?  Killing her to silence her forever?” 

“No!  It wasn’t William.”

To calm his breathing, Joe paced through the parlor, but the rage he felt wouldn’t let go, and he had to get out of the house.  He didn’t trust himself to stay until a sudden crash caught his attention.  Martha’s crystal glass lay shattered on the parlor floor, and she’d stumbled backwards, falling onto the sofa. 

The haze of alcohol had forced words she never would have spoken, but in her mind, Joe had listened to Martha try to preserve her marriage and return to a normal way of life.  That was all well and good if she could place the blame on him rather than have Molly’s death affect any part of their lives.

Martha’s eyes were closed; she’d passed out.  Joe reached for a crocheted afghan and, after lifting her feet from the floor to the sofa, he covered her with the blanket and left the ugliness behind when he walked out the front door.

“I’m tellin’ you, Amos, the woman was out of her head.  Worst of all, Martha’s known all along about her husband’s goings-on with Molly,” Joe all but shouted.  “She knew everything, yet she never said a word till now.”

“You were out at the Watsons?”

“Yes.  I went out to talk to Martha.”

“Why?  What did you think you’d accomplish by—“

“I don’t know, but now I know the truth and so do you.”

“Sure, secondhand.  That means nothing, Joe.”  Amos leaned back in his chair.  “She’ll have to repeat everything to me if we want her to testify in court.”

“I doubt that’s gonna happen.”

“Why?”

“She was drunk, Amos.  She passed out on the couch before I left.  I covered her with a blanket and walked out the front door.”

“That’s great.  Did she say anything about last night?”

“No.”

“I—well, I probably said things I shouldn’t have, but I didn’t mention anything she didn’t already know.”

“I asked you to let me do the investigating, Joe.  I don’t know if we’ll get any more out of her now.”

“I know and I’m sorry, but I had to know the truth.”

“We don’t have much to go on.”

“She’s afraid, Amos.  She said her husband didn’t kill Molly.  I think she’s afraid that if he’s convicted of murder, she’ll lose everything, and that scares her.  Hell, it would scare anyone into telling boldface lies.”

“Remember what I told you earlier.  I need facts.  Nothing she said proves anything other than she knew her husband and daughter had been together.”

“You just let me in that cell for two minutes, and I swear to God, Watson will talk.”

“That’s enough, Joe.”  Amos stood from his desk, crossed the room, and opened his office door.  “Go back to the hotel and stay there.  If and when I discover any new information, I’ll know where to find you.”

“I swear to you here and now, Dobbs.  Watson will pay for what he’s done.  I’m not leaving town until he’s on his knees begging mercy from the court.” 

Joe climbed the stairs to the top floor of the hotel, walked down the narrow hall to the suite, and entered the room where his father would be waiting not so patiently.  He knew what Ben would ask, and after explaining it once to the sheriff, he was in no mood for a repeat performance.  After taking one quick look at his pa and Hoss, he flopped down in the nearest chair.

“Just where have you been, Joseph?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Joe sighed and leaned his head back on the chair.  “Pa, I’m tired.”

“Okay, so you’re tired.  We’re all tired, now give your brother and me some straight answers.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Start talking.”

“I talked to Martha Watson, and I told Dobbs what she said.  End of story, Pa.”

“Is there anything I should know about?”

“No, Sir.”

Joe’s eyes had closed, and Ben let the conversation drop.  His boy was spent, they all were, but Joe carried a heavy weight on his shoulders, and even though his son had been instructed to stay away from the Watsons and let Amos do his job, Ben gave way to any further interrogation.

A hazy fog slowly burned off as morning sun inched its way above the eastern horizon.  A heavy rain during the night had kept Joe from getting much sleep, and by the predawn hours, he was dressed and out for a walk, alone.  The long, narrow street that was dry as dust yesterday was creviced and potholed with small pools of water today.  Remnants of last night’s rain had settled on rooftops and dripped on Joe’s tan hat as he strolled down the city’s boardwalk.

Dawn was a quiet time, and Joe had sensed the need for solitude.  Though he’d slept some after Ben made him go to bed, it had been a restless sleep, and somehow, walking and thinking went hand in hand.  Without heavy wagons driving down the main street of town and without glaring noise filtering out from the multitude of saloons, Joe enjoyed the peacefulness of early morning.

He wasn’t an early morning riser like Pa or even Adam had been, but this day was different.  This day would be marked in his memory forever.  He thought of the words he’d said to Dobbs.  “Watson will pay for what he’s done.  I’m not leaving town until—.”  He smiled to himself regarding those strong, heartfelt words.  What power did he have over Dobbs or Watson—none.  He’d spoken in anger and now, in the light of a new day, those words meant nothing at all.

He’d walked to the far end of town, as far as the boardwalk would allow, and to his right, up a gentle, green slope, was the graveyard where townsfolk would gather in just a few hours.  Joe turned up his collar and pulled his jacket tighter around him to ward off a sudden chill.  The morning air was cool, although that’s not what caused the soft, little hairs underneath his collar to prickle the back of his neck.

He let his eyes rest on the hill.  Realizing there’d been few tears and no final goodbye, no way of letting Molly know how much she’d be missed, he felt deprived of her final hours on earth.  He blew out a slow breath and turned back toward the hotel.  His father would be pacing the room, wondering if he’d done something he’d have to pay for later, something uncharacteristic of a Cartwright.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Ben said to his middle boy. 

He stood in the wet grass on the hillside graveyard.  The hole had been dug before the service was to begin, and Molly’s casket was set to the right.  Men with ropes would lower it carefully after the preacher said a few words over the girl’s dead body.

“What’s that, Pa?” 

“Martha Watson is nowhere in sight.”  Ben turned to Joe.  “You’re sure Martha was all right when you left her house yesterday?”

Joe barely heard his father’s question.  His eyes and his thoughts were on Watson.  The man’s hands were cuffed as Dobb’s had promised, but still, the sight of witnessing him weep over Molly’s death made his skin crawl.  What did he expect?  He murdered her with his own bare hands, and he had to gall to shed tears at her funeral?

“Sorry, you say something, Pa?”

Ben repeated his question.  “Was Martha all right when you left her?”

“Yeah.  Stone drunk, but she was fine.”

The preacher droned on much too long for Joe’s taste.  Even though the Watsons had been a church-going couple, probably more for show than anything else, this man of the cloth went on and on as if he’d known Molly her entire life.  Most every bluenose who resided in Carson attended the service—everyone except Martha.  But wasn’t that why people attended funerals?  Wasn’t watching other people’s heartache what brought people out on a cold, drizzly day like today?

The casket was lowered, and Watson, with his head bowed to his chest, played the part of a grieving father extremely well.  And when the preacher finally found an end to his ramblings, the entire group of onlookers watched as Watson bent down and picked up a piece of earth to scatter over the lowered casket.  For Joe, Watson’s display of affection was nothing but a mockery of the life Molly had endured.

The sun, which had shown intermittently for most of the morning, was now concealed behind dark, heavy clouds.  A second storm was approaching, and as large raindrops began to fall, the crowd of mourners was ready to escape the sloping, green hill to the comforts of their own homes and offices.  Dobbs signaled Watson by taking hold of his arm, indicating it was time to go.  Men and women clad in black followed, but even as Hoss and Ben turned to go, Joe remained stationary. 

“You need more time, Son?”

Joe didn’t look up, but he nodded his head.  As Hoss and Ben stepped away, leaving Joe standing alone, he stepped forward until the silver casket, which had been lowered deep into the ground, became visible once again.

And he wept …

With the service concluded, the Cartwrights had plenty of daylight hours left to return to the ranch.  Round up had been handled without Joe or Hoss’ help, and the drive to Sacramento was only days away.  Ben was anxious to put the whole affair behind them and move forward.  Granted, he would gladly give Joe the few extra minutes needed with Molly, though he’d sent Hoss off to the livery to collect their mounts and have them ready to ride when he and Joe returned to the hotel.  Presuming the storm was short-lived, they could leave Carson soon and head home.

Joe and Ben walked back into town together, both wanting to stop in and check one last time with Dobbs before riding home.  There’d be no trial now that Molly was dead and couldn’t tell the court who’d fathered her child, and Joe was free to go.  Whether a young girl’s testimony would have been sufficient to convict any man was another story in itself, but all three Cartwrights would return to Carson City for Watson’s day in court.

When Ben and Joe entered Dobbs’ office, they were surprised to see a deputy sitting in the sheriff’s chair.  With his muddy boots propped on top of Amos’ desk, he quickly stood, somewhat embarrassed, and greeted his visitors. 

“What can I do for you fellas?”

“Where’s Dobbs?”  Ben growled unnecessarily.

“He went straight to the Watson house after the funeral, sir.  Told me to stand watch over the prisoner.”

“Is that all he said?”  Ben asked.

“Well, if you’re the Cartwrights, he said he thought you might be by, and he told me to have Joseph Cartwright wait here till he got back.”

“Me?  Why?”

“He didn’t rightly say, Mr. Cartwright.”

“I guess we’ll wait.”

Minutes later, the door flew open and Dobbs hurried in.  He nodded to Ben and Joe and crossed the room to his deputy.  “Everything all right here?”

“Sure ‘nough, Sheriff.  I just got done explaining to these men—“

“You did fine, Earl.  You go on now,” Dobbs said, placing a coin in the young deputy’s hand.  “Go get yourself a beer.  I’ll know where to find you if I need you later today.”

When the young deputy was out of earshot, Dobbs turned to Ben and Joe.  “Have a seat.  There’s been a new development and I—”

“What?  Did Watson confess?”

“No … but his wife is dead.  Martha Watson is dead.”

“Oh, no,” Ben said.  He reached for his son’s arm. 

After giving this new information a minute to sink in, Dobbs asked Joe the same question he’d asked him the night before.  “Where was Martha when you left her last night?”

Joe looked up, a bit surprised.  Was Amos insinuating—  “You think I was the last one to see her alive, or do you think I had something to do with—“

“Settle down, Joe,” Amos cautioned.  “Ben?”

“Let Amos explain, Joseph.  My God, Son.  Use the sense God gave you and calm down.  The sheriff isn’t accusing you of anything.”

Amos tried again.  “Last night, you said you’d covered her and left her on the couch.  Is that right?”

“Yeah.  She’d passed out on the sofa in the parlor, and I—I don’t know.  I covered her with a blanket, and then I left the house.  I came straight here.”

“Well, I figured something was wrong when Martha didn’t attend the child’s funeral, so I had Earl stay here and guard Watson, and I headed over to see if something was wrong.  As soon as I walked through the front door, I knew for sure.  I headed for the parlor and, well, you know Martha Watson as well, and anyone, Joe, Ben.  The blanket you said you’d laid over her was lying in a heap on the floor, and there was a spilled glass of something—smelling like brandy—shattered on the floor next to the carpeting.

“I called out her name; I even looked in the kitchen for the Watson’s cook, although I didn’t see her anywhere about the place either.  My only choice was to go upstairs, and that’s where I found Martha.  She was lying face down on her daughter’s bed, and when I tried to wake her,” —Dobbs shook his head— “she was already gone.

“How’d she die then?” 

“Far as I can tell, there was a small canister of pills on the bed next to her.  I’m guessing it was hers ‘cause it had one of those lady cameo pictures on the top.  All I can figure is she took one too many and—“

“What now, Amos?”  Ben sighed. 

The sheriff’s door opened, and Hoss stepped inside.  “Wondered what happened to the two of you.”

“Here, take my seat, Son.”  He stood and moved closer to Joe.

Dobbs leaned forward over his desk.  “Tell me exactly what she said to you last night, Joe.”

“I can’t remember word for word, Amos, but she knew what her husband had been up to with Molly.  She said Watson didn’t kill her—that’s all.  That’s all she said before she passed out cold.”

The front door flew open, and the young deputy, seemingly out of breath, stepped inside the sheriff’s office.

“Thought I told you to go get a beer, Earl.”

“I was on my way to the saloon, Sheriff, but Doc Reynolds stopped me before I got there.  He handed me this and told me to make sure I delivered it straight to you.”  The deputy dug deep into his shirt pocket and pulled out a gold and diamond earring.  He handed it to Dobbs.  “Doc said John Henry found it when he was cleaning up the room where that girl died yesterday.  Said he found this on the floor next to the bed.”

“You did good, Earl,” Dobbs said in a calmer voice.  “Why don’t you go have that beer now?”  Amos leaned forward over his desk, running the tiny diamond earring between his fingers.  “Molly ever wear earrings, Joe?” 

“No.  Never.”

Dobbs studied the earring carefully—diamond, expensive, no doubt.  “I sent Pearson out to the house to pick up the body.  He should be back by now.  Let’s go have us a look-see.”  Dobbs realized he’d sent the deputy away when he shouldn’t have.  “Hoss, can you stay here with Watson?  We won’t be long.”

Hoss nodded to the sheriff.  “Yessir.”  Hoss would have done just about anything to speed up the process so they could start back home.

Sheriff Dobbs and the two Cartwright men marched down the boardwalk single file and, as they approached the funeral parlor, Pearson was just pulling his wagon up in front.

“I need to see the body, Fred.”

“Can’t it wait until I get her inside?”

“Nope.” 

Dobbs lowered the tailgate, jumped onto the back of the wagon, and, with little regard for the dead, he uncovered the body.  He nodded at Ben and Joe.  “It’s a match.  Martha was right about one thing, Joe.  Watson didn’t kill the girl.  We have our guilty party.”

The walk back to the jail was less than enthusiastic.  William Watson would go free.  There would be no trial, and even though the man had raped his own daughter, none of it mattered in the eyes of the law.  He was her legal guardian, as close as a father could be, but he’d used the power he had over an innocent child, and in the end, all was lost.  Martha had killed Molly and then taken her own life.  Another life ruined in this long-running tragedy of events. 

Several questions ran through Joe’s mind.  Had she killed Molly to protect her husband?  Had she wanted to protect his reputation in the community, or was she so ashamed, her life wasn’t worth living?  He would never know Martha’s final thoughts.

Joe had witnessed death many times over.  Men died during cattle drives, and women died during childbirth.  Even women he’d loved had surrendered to death long before their time.  But Molly had been special.  She’d been his ward, his responsibility from the start, and no matter who was actually to blame, he would always blame himself for her premature death.

Hoss decided he’d make himself comfortable.  He leaned back in the sheriff’s rickety, old chair, and he, too, rested his enormous boots on top of the desk, but he’d situated himself in that position only moments before Dobbs walked back in.  He jerked his feet off the desk and felt the heat of embarrassment rise instantly in his face. 

“Your family’s waiting for you at McMurphy’s.  Tell ‘em I’ll be along in a minute.”

“Yessir.”  Hoss slapped his gallon-sized hat on his head and walked straight to McMurphy’s figuring he’d get the story from Joe rather than bother the sheriff with more questions concerning the case.

As much as he dreaded what came next, Amos lifted his set of keys from the nail outside the cell and twisted the longest one in the lock.  “You’re free to go, Watson.”

“What did I tell you, Sheriff?”  William said, grabbing his suit jacket from the cot and joyously slipping his arms through the sleeves.  “You gonna lock him up now.  You gonna lock up Joe Cartwright?”

“No, Watson.  Joe’s free to go.”

“Free?  But he’s your man, Dobbs.  He’s the killer.”

“No, Watson, he’s not.  He’s a free man, same as you.”

“Then who?  Who killed my Molly?  Who else is there?”

“Your wife killed your daughter.  Last night, after you left the girl, your wife slipped into the doc’s surgery.”

“Have you been drinking, Dobbs?  Do you realize what you just said?”

“I do.  We found your wife’s diamond earring next to the dead girl’s bed.  Your wife killed your daughter.  Now,” Amos said, pausing for effect, “we’ll never know if she was trying to protect you or what her motives actually were.  Martha knew everything, Watson.  She knew about you and the girl.”

“No, Martha never suspected a—”

“Oh, but she did,” Dobbs said, not caring what he told the man now.  In fact, he was taking great pleasure in Watson’s discomfort.  So, in a matter-of-fact voice, he continued.  “She let the cat outta the bag, so to speak, just before she marched herself down to Doc Reynolds’ and suffocated your daughter with a pillow.  Martha left her for dead and snuck back into the house.  You never missed her, did you, Watson?  You never even knew she was gone.”

“But, I—”

“She knew you were scum.  And, she knew it had to end.  If Molly got well and came home, what then?  Would you have raped her again, Watson?  For how long?  How long were you planning to rape your own daughter?”

“Sheriff, I—”

“Get the fuck outta here, Watson.  I don’t want to see your face ever again.”

William made for the sheriff’s front door—a free man. 

“Oh, one more thing before you go.  You’ll find your wife’s body at Pearson’s.”  Dobbs hated to admit he delighted in the confused look on Watson’s face.  “After she killed your daughter, Martha killed herself.”

Epilogue:

Every man has a certain role in life.  William Watson was a pillar of his community, a better-than-average provider, and a good and decent husband until the day his life changed, and now, he could no longer hold a candle to the man he’d once been.  Without realizing, he’d confessed to Dobbs about his relationship with Molly, but according to the law in the state of Nevada, relationships of that sort had never been considered a crime.

The shock of Molly and Martha’s deaths had taken its toll.  William sat alone night after night and eventually, day after day.  Cookie had left her position when she became aware of the situation.  Had she stayed with her employer, it would be a reflection on her own character, and she was a better person than what was left of the household she’d been with for the last fifteen years.

Watson’s business failed completely after the deaths of his loved ones.  There had been talk, and talk led to speculation and truths.  There had been no visitors to the house, and William never left home unless his bottles ran dry and he was forced to make a trip to one of the local saloons to restock his supply.  And when he ventured out, people stared and people whispered, and he flushed with shame, and he quickly returned home to his safe haven, where no one judged and no one brought up the past because there was nothing but empty bottles to talk to.

There was no one to cook, and no food left in the pantry should he even think of preparing a meal.  And on a snowy, winter night, the parlor fell into an eerie darkness when he’d let the fire grow cold.  He refilled his glass and stood from the comforts of his leather chair.  And as he reminisced over days gone by, of a life he’d once cherished, a darker cloud of memories surfaced, and he raised his glass in salute. 

“To Joe Cartwright.  And to hell with it all.”

Stumbling across the room to his mahogany desk, he sat down in his chair and opened the top drawer.  He slid his hand to the far back behind pens and pencils, scraps of unused papers, and found what he was looking for.  He pulled it to his lap; it felt heavy in his hands.  The barrel was like ice, cold to the touch as he ran his fingers up and down the long, silver shaft.  Studying the shape and size of his prized possession, the best money could buy, he smiled. 

In his forty-nine years of life, he’d never carried a gun.  He was a man of means, a proper gentleman who’d never had use for firearms, had never even held his finger to the trigger of one before.  But he’d kept this one in his desk drawer after his longtime friend, Ben Cartwright, had given him the unexpected gift one Christmas.  WW had been engraved in gold lettering on the butt of the one-of-a-kind, single-shot pistol.  William smiled again.  It seemed quite appropriate to make use of Ben’s extraordinary gift. 

He held the loaded gun above his right ear.  He placed his finger against the trigger and he fired …

As winter gave way to spring, trees blossomed with new life and wildflowers spread throughout green meadows like a flourish of bright twinkling stars.  Longer days often ignited bottled-up energy and brought a clean, fresh outlook to life.  Ben had frequently watched his son gaze into nothingness, and he knew where Joe’s mind had drifted.  Though he never questioned his youngest boy’s thoughts, the reason for the time lost in a faraway place was obvious.  Molly’s sudden passing had taken along with it a measure of Joe’s heart and soul.

After urging Joe to ride into town with him one Monday morning, Ben noticed a smile crease Joe’s face for the first time since the tragedy had occurred.  They’d each had chores to accomplish.  While Ben took care of business at the land office, Joe picked up supplies at the mercantile.  Plans to meet at the Silver Dollar would top off their morning before they drove back to the Ponderosa.

Since it was still before lunchtime, the saloon was much less crowded than it would be later on, and Ben spotted Joe, although he was surprised to find a bottle of whiskey rather than a cold beer sitting on his son’s table.

“Little early for something this strong, isn’t it?”

“Not today, Pa.”

“Care to explain?”

Sam brought Ben a fresh glass, and Ben nodded his thanks.

“Got a telegram from Amos,” Joe said.

“Really?  Good news?”

“I suppose it would depend on who you asked.”

“I’m asking you, Joseph.”

“Then yes.  It’s very good news.”

Joe reached inside his jacket pocket and handed Ben a yellow slip of paper.

Joe Cartwright, Ponderosa Ranch (stop)

Watson’s dead (stop)

Shot himself sometime last winter (stop)

Found the body today (stop)

A. Dobbs, Carson City (stop)

Ben didn’t have to look up; he sensed Joe’s smiling face.  Though he hated to admit anything out loud, he felt perhaps William’s death had been inevitable.  Ben wasn’t one to find satisfaction in another man’s misfortune, and as he’d done all winter long, he kept his thoughts to himself.

~~

A year to the day after Molly’s death, I loaded the buckboard and headed south to the hillside cemetery on the outskirts of Carson City—the last and final trip I’d make.  There was no rush; I had all day to complete my task.

As I traveled down the open road, I was reminded of the days Molly would sit beside me, bouncing along on the seat of the buckboard, chattering up a storm about this and that.  It really didn’t matter what she found to talk about; I think she was truly happy and enjoyed having someone who would sit and listen.  I remembered the times she leaned against my shoulder and, for a brief moment in time, she would become serious, a young woman conveying her doubts and fears. 

There was the afternoon she’d danced through the front room of the ranch house, the day she’d come home from Virginia City wearing her first store-bought dress.  Elated and proud, she twirled in circles showing Pa and Hoss and me and grinning like a young debutant at her first gala event.  Yes, Molly had a few brief moments of happiness, skipping stones, chasing strays, and dancing in her new blue dress.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she’d cried.  Her face beamed with joy, and she made sure each of us knew how grateful she was for what we considered an everyday, inexpensive gift.  But for a girl like Molly, who had nothing, the simple cotton dress meant everything.

“All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players.”  Those were Adam’s words, actually Mr. Shakespeare’s, but my elder brother would often quote the famous poet when he struggled for words he’d want to say.  “They have their exits and entrances; and one man—or in this case, Molly—in her time played many parts.”

Although I wasn’t planning to quote either Adam or Shakespeare, the prose seemed to fit my mood.  Molly had played many parts during her young life.  She strove to please, even though she’d been taken advantage of and endured a life filled with pain. 

So, when I pulled the buckboard up in front of the sloping hill that served as Carson City’s graveyard, I tread carefully through rows of ornate monuments looking for the simple wooden cross that had been placed by Pearson’s Mortuary a year ago.

The marker had broken at the base and lay face down in the dirt.  I set it aside and began digging a narrow trench through the heavy clay earth at the head of the mound.  The light had gone out of my life the day Molly died.  She left before I could say goodbye—my precious Molly.

For one last time, I inspected the handsome, hand-carved stone I’d brought as a replacement.  I read the words I’d chosen … 

No Pain, No Grief,

 No Anxious Fear

Will Reach the One

Who’s Sleeping Here

The End

1 – 2015