by jfclover

Book 1 – 1848

Adam

I hadn’t thought it was possible, but plans were being made.  Pa sat me down one night and asked if I approved, but what could I say?  He hadn’t asked my opinion last time.  He’d made the decision on his own and we accepted that he was the father and we were the sons, and our opinion didn’t matter.  This time was different.  I was older now.  I was a man, not a little boy, yet I was uncomfortable talking about such things.

“It’s not my place to say, Pa.”

“Oh, but it is, son.  We’re a family, a family of men, and you have every right to an opinion.”

Joe was six and Hoss was twelve.  Did Pa consider them men too?  “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“But what do you really think?”

Pa persisted and I gave the only answer I could think of.  “It’ll change things, the way we do things, but Joe and Hoss might benefit.”

“And you won’t?”

“I’m eighteen years old, Pa, and I’m leaving for college in a few months.  You have to think of Hoss and Joe, not me.”  I tried not to squirm in my seat.  “Have you talked to either of them?”

Pa leaned back in his chair and set his pipe between his teeth.  “No, not man-to-man like I am with you.”

“Maybe you should.  Hoss is certainly old enough to have an opinion.”

“I’m not worried about Hoss, son.  It’s Joseph that worries me most.  He hasn’t … he’s—”

“I know.  I’ve noticed it too.”

“His resentment is uncalled-for.  There must be a reason he’s acting out, but I can’t put my finger on what’s causing the problem.  I’ve tried talking to him but, as you and Hoss know, I’ve failed at getting to the truth.”

“You want me to talk to him?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Adam.”  Pa leaned forward.  I could tell he was nervous about the whole matter, but I was willing to talk to my youngest brother.  “I hate for him to think we’re ganging up on him.”

“Someone has to set him straight.”  I stood from my chair and moved closer to Pa.  “Why don’t I have a go?  It can’t hurt, can it?”

Though it was obvious to me, Pa couldn’t see the problem.  Marie’s death was tragic and sudden.  A drawn-out illness would have given us time to say goodbye, but Joe’s mama died before we had that chance.  In the weeks and months that followed our unfortunate loss, we’d done Little Joe a great disservice.  We were all guilty of screening out the bad and enhancing the good.  We’d nearly elevated Marie Cartwright to sainthood.

Pa met the widow Jenkins—Maria Santos Jenkins—six or seven months ago, but he was hesitant to bring her home to meet the family until he was sure she was the one.  As Pa says, we’re a family of men, and accepting a woman, a new mother, into our daily lives would clearly be challenging, especially for a kid like Joe.

In Pa’s eyes, Joe was still a baby and because he was the youngest, we all coddled and watched over him like he was a delicate figurine in an overpriced gift shop.  The kid wanted for nothing and if a six-year-old could play-act, Joe excelled.  Mostly, Joe’s antics were like a ray of sunshine.  He brought laughter and joy to the supper table.  He was pure entertainment for a house full of work-worn men.

Joe was leery of the widow Jenkins.  Never mean or disrespectful, of course, but having a saint for a mother, how could anyone take her place?  We’d whitewashed Marie’s faults too much for Joe to accept anyone like his new ma.

The date had been set for the wedding, two weeks before I left for the east coast, and I would serve as both Pa’s best man and father of the bride.  Reverend Whitehall would perform the service in our home, and since Maria had no children of her own and a younger sister who couldn’t make the trip, only my brothers and I would attend.

Hoss seemed to enjoy the process, but, of course, Hoss would.  He enjoyed most everything life had to offer and would never make a stink even if deep down, he wasn’t all that thrilled.  He tried to cajole Little Joe into seeing the bright side of Pa’s intended, but that was just Hoss.  He wasn’t happy unless everyone else was, but his power of persuasion wasn’t working on the kid.  Joe continued to sulk.

I saw nothing wrong with Maria.  She seemed okay to me.  There’d been talk when Pa married Joe’s mama.  She was young and beautiful, and men who had nothing better to do with their time questioned her background.  Maria might be fodder for those same people since she was younger than Pa and of Spanish descent, but if she made Pa happy, that’s all that mattered.  Joe would come around eventually.  Hoss would keep at him and keep at him until he convinced the kid that bringing a new ma into the house was a good thing.

Maria often corrected Joe’s behavior, and Pa backed her all the way.  Maybe that was part of the problem.  The kid felt he’d been left out of Pa’s good graces, maybe lost and afraid.  What meant most to him in this world was our father and in his overactive mind, Pa had traded his love for Joe for a woman who’d become his new mother.

While Pa and Maria sat at the dining room table discussing their upcoming nuptials, I took Joe by the hand and pulled him up from the settee.  “Time for a bath, kid.”

“It ain’t Saturday night, Adam.”

“Oh, yes, it is.”

“It is?”

“Yep.”

“You gonna take a bath too?”

“Yep.”

“All right.”

Hoss was eager to join in the fun.  “I’ll come up with you, Little Joe.”

“You dirty too?”

“I sure am.”

I often read Joe a story while he soaked, but I had other things on my mind.  I hated to leave for Boston with the kid so put out over the wedding.  Somehow, Hoss and I had to work this thing out, if not for his sake then for our father’s.

Hop Sing trailed in with buckets of water, and I had Joe strip down while we waited for him to bring more.  “Jump in, buddy.”

“Ain’t deep enough yet.”

“Just get in the tub.”

“Why ain’t you got no book?”

This wasn’t the time to correct Joe’s speech pattern; I didn’t want him mad at me before I even started.  “I thought we could talk.”

Joe looked up.  “‘Bout what, Adam?”

I pulled a wooden chair next to the copper tub.  “You know I’m leaving for college soon, and I wanted to talk to you man-to-man before I left.”

“Why ya gotta go, Adam?  Don’t you like us anymore?”

“That has nothing to do with it, and I’ve already explained why I have to go.”

“You don’t like her either, do you?”

“Maria?  I like her just fine.”

Hop Sing poured two more buckets of water next to Joe’s feet, and the kid grabbed both knees as if he’d been scalded.  “You tryin’ to burn me to death?”

“Don’t you yell at Hop Sing.  Little boy need hot water get clean.“  I nodded my thanks to our cook and he trotted toward the bedroom door.  “I bring more water up later for boys who appreciate.”

“She don’t like me, Adam.”

“That’s nonsense, Joe, and you know it.”  I tried a different route.  “Do you love Pa?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Pa loves Maria, and it would make him happy if you loved her too.”  I handed Joe the bar of soap.  “Get busy.”

“I don’t wanna love her.”

“I know you don’t, but she’s a nice lady.  Pa wouldn’t marry a mean old witch, would he?”  Joe let his hands fall into the water.  “Joe?”

“She don’t like me, Adam.  Why should I like her?”

I sighed heavily.  We’d been through this a hundred times before.  “Tell me why she doesn’t like you.”

“I just know.”

“You’ve got to do better than that, buddy.”

“She’s always staring at me.  She’s always waiting for me to mess up so she can yell at me.  And then she-she …”

“Oh, come on.  Now, you’re exaggerating.  If you don’t behave, you’ll be corrected.  Simple as that.”

“Yeah,” Hoss said.  “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with Miss Maria; besides, she’s pretty and she talks real sweet.  I bet she can sing real pretty too.”

Hoss had been so quiet; I’d forgotten he was in the room, but he was right.  Maria was a beautiful woman.  Around the house, her long, black hair hung to her waist.  Only when she and Pa would go out would she pull it up in a proper chignon.  She had dark eyes and olive skin that was flawless even in bright sunlight, and Pa fell in love at first sight.  At least, that’s the story he told the three of us.

“She ain’t as pretty as Mama,” Joe said.

“She’s pretty in a different way,” I replied.  “She’s … exotic.”

“She’s what?”  Both brothers chimed in on that one.

“She’s a woman of mystery,” I said dramatically, even waving my hands in the shape of a woman’s delicate figure.  “She’s striking.  She’s unusually beautiful.”  Hoss and Joe both stared at me as though I’d lost my mind, and I began to laugh.  “Okay,” I said.  “Maybe I got carried away, but Maria means well, Joe.  You’re trying to get used to her, and she’s trying to get used to all of us.  It’s not easy for her either.”

Joe pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around.  He plunked his chin down on top.  “Maybe she ain’t so bad.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hoss said.  

“Hoss is right, Joe.  Give her a chance to love you too.  That’s all I’m asking.”

                                                             *

Joe

“It’s too tight.”

Hoss swatted my hands away.  “No, it ain’t.  You wanna look your best, don’t you?”

“I’ll choke to death.”

“You’re almost seven, Little Joe, and seven-year-old boys don’t whine about every little thing.  Did you brush your hair?”

“‘Course, I did.”

“It don’t look like it.”  Hoss grabbed my arm.  “Come back here.”

I stood in front of the mirror and Hoss ran the brush through my hair.  Guess I kinda fibbed about doing it earlier, but I hated having to get all slicked up.

“Where’s your jacket?”

“I gotta wear that too?”

“Yeah, ‘fraid so.”  Hoss stood back and looked me over.  “You look fine, Little Joe.  Real fine.”

Hoss took the brush to his own hair.

“How long’s this thing gonna last?”

“Oh, maybe an hour.  Maybe less.”

“I ain’t never getting married, Hoss.”

“Oh, sure you will.  Someday you’ll meet some pretty little filly and fall head over heels in love.”

“Not me.  Not ever.”

“Famous last words, little brother.  Come on.  Let’s go downstairs.  And smile!”

When I started to sit on the settee, Hoss jerked me back to my feet.  “You’ll get all wrinkly,” he said.  I rolled my eyes.  What kind of shindig was this anyhow?  Couldn’t even get comfortable.  Adam was talking to the preacher when Pa came out of the guestroom dressed in a black suit and matching vest.  I’d never seen him look so stiff and proper.

“Hey, Pa,” I said.  “Hoss says I can’t sit down.”

“That’s right, son, but not for long.  We’re about to begin.  Adam?  If you’ll escort my bride, I think we’re ready.”

Pa and the preacher stood by the fireplace.  Adam and Hoss and I had moved some of the furniture so we’d have room to stand.  Seemed silly to me.  I’d be a lot happier if we were all sitting down.  Adam and Maria stood at the top of the stairs.

“Hoss,” Pa said.  “Will you start the music?”

“Yessir.”

Hoss opened the lid of a hand-painted music box, one Pa had bought just for the occasion, I guess, but no one told me.  It was a pretty song, and I could imagine a gathering of fairies dancing in an open meadow.  I’d seen a picture of that once in one of Adam’s books.  A whole bunch of pink-colored fairies held hands and danced in a circle.

Maria rested her hand on Adam’s arm and they walked slowly down the stairs until they reached the fireplace, and Adam placed her hand in Pa’s.  Pa was all watery-eyed like he was gonna cry over something sad, but Adam told me once, a long time ago, that people cry when they’re happy sometimes too.  I didn’t understand why, but I hoped Pa was happy, not sad.

“Dearly beloved—” said Reverend Whitehall.  

I went kind of numb listening to all the fancy words he used and when I stuck my finger inside my choking collar, Hoss swatted my hand back down to my side.  My legs were already tired of standing, and when I started wobbling my knees back and forth; Hoss elbowed me then clasped his hands back together in front of him.  I did the same.  Surely, this couldn’t last much longer.

“I now pronounce you man and wife.  You may kiss the bride.”

Watching Pa, I knew for sure I’d never get married.  Not if I had to kiss a girl in front of everyone in the room.

“Congratulations, Pa,” Adam said.

“Congratulations, you two,” Hoss said.

Pa looked down at me.  “Yeah, same here, Pa.”

“Thank you, Adam, Hoss, Little Joe.  Now,” he said.  “Let’s open that bottle of champagne and celebrate.  I think Hop Sing made some special punch for you boys.”

“May I say something, Ben?”

“Of course, sweetheart.  You’re family now.”

“I just want to say I’m happy you’ve accepted me into your family.  I know it’s been hard, especially for you, Little Joe, but I assure you we’ll all find happiness together.”  She stared down at me.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

I didn’t like being singled out, but I promised Adam I’d try to like my new ma.  Maria knelt down on one knee.  “You can’t call me ma’am anymore, Joe.  What would you like to call me?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Would you rather call me ma or mama?”

I looked up at Pa.  I swallowed the lump in my throat.  “My mama’s dead, ma’am.  I think I’d rather call you Maria.”

“Maria it is then.”  She stood back up.  “How about you, Hoss.”

I caught Hoss looking at Pa too.  “Maria’s fine with me too, ma’am.”

“Now that we have that settled,” —Pa raised his glass— “to my beautiful bride, the lovely Mrs. Maria Cartwright.”

“Hear, hear,” Adam said.

Like everyone else, Hoss and I followed our elders and held up our glasses of punch.  Pa let Adam have a glass of the fizzy stuff, but not me or Hoss.  Hop Sing brought out platters of food.  “Special food for a special occasion,” he said, and we all took our seats at the table, even the preacher sat down and joined us like it was Sunday dinner.

I guess Maria would live here from now on.  She’d been renting a room somewhere down by Mormon Station, and her stuff had been delivered yesterday.  Pa took everything up to his room except for one thing.  She had a little, china figurine that Pa set on the corner of his desk where framed pictures of our mamas used to sit, but they’d been packed away long before today’s ceremony.  I guess we’d have to eat every meal with her too, and she’d be hanging around while Hoss and I played checkers after supper.  I wondered where she’d sit.  We all had our regular spots.

Other things had changed too.  Pa gave Maria her own horse; a buckskin that looked a lot like Buck only hers was a mare.  Her and Pa went riding a lot, but Hoss and me had to stay home and hold down the fort.  That’s what Pa would say before they took off around the barn and rode out of sight.  “Hold down the fort, boys.  We’ll be back soon.”  They’d often be gone for hours and leave Adam in charge.  Sometimes, I felt like crying, but I was almost seven, and I knew better than to cry over silly things.  Still, I missed my pa.

When Pa would go on trips, Adam was always in charge, and me and Hoss were told to obey, but we didn’t always.   Sometimes, we were bad, and sometimes it wasn’t even Hoss’ fault, but Adam would send both of us to our rooms anyway.  Hoss said he didn’t mind, said he had books he could thumb through ‘cause, in truth, he liked to read.  I never understood why he’d read books at home but hated going to school.  Maybe he’d tell me someday.

                                                             *

Hoss

I ain’t never seen Pa so happy.  Maybe it’s ‘cause I’m older now, and I notice things like that.  I turned thirteen just last week and Pa said somethin’ real nice after I blew out the candles on my cake.  “You’re growing up, son.  You’re nearly a man, now.”  I was as big as my brother Adam, and almost as tall as Pa, but I still felt like a kid inside.  Adam started shavin’ at my age, but I didn’t shave yet ‘cause I didn’t have no whiskers, not even them wispy kind I’d seen on Ezra Mahoney at Mrs. Potts’ school.  Pa said not to worry about such things.  He said because I was born blonde, my whiskers would come in later.  Our pa knew everything.  He knew all about women too.

Miss Maria was a fine lady if you asked me.  I had no qualms, not like Little Joe, but he was still rememberin’ his own mama.  I did too on occasion.  We all loved Marie, even Adam took to her, and Adam don’t take to just everyone.  Joe would come around in time.  He’s just stubborn is all, but Miss Maria was tryin’ her darnedest to make sure we’d all be happy livin’ under one roof.

Pa’d courted her for a long time before he asked her to marry him.  He’d sat me and Joe in front of the fire one night and—well, I guess he asked our permission.  ‘Course, I said yes.  I had to nudge Little Joe, but he blurted out what any six-year-old kid would say.  “Is she gonna move in here?”

“Of course, Joseph,” Pa said.  “We’ll be a complete family again.  How does that sound?”

“Fine, Pa.”

Little Joe didn’t sound very excited.  Maybe none of us was real excited, but we didn’t let on.  Pa knew women, and if Miss Maria made him happy, then we was happy too.  That’s how things worked around here.  We all had to give and take sometimes, even if life would never be the same again.

I seen that Joe had celebrated about all he could.  We was up to our ears in Hop Sing’s special punch, and I pulled him from his seat at the table.  “May we be excused?”  I said.

“Certainly, boys, but change out of your good clothes before you start any kind of roughhousing.”

“Yessir.”

I hauled Joe up the stairs, and we did as Pa asked.  We was both glad to pull our string ties from our necks so we could get into regular clothes.  “Much better,” I said, but Joe hadn’t gotten very far.  He’d sat down on the edge of his bed.  “Ain’t you gonna change?”

“I hope we don’t gotta dress like this all the time.”

“Don’t be silly.  Not every day is special like today.”

“It ain’t so special to me.”

“Come on now.  That ain’t no way to talk about your new mama.”

“She ain’t my mama, Hoss.  My mama’s in heaven.”

I was growin’ tired of Joe’s constant complainin’.  “Yeah, so’s mine and so’s Adam’s, but that don’t mean we can’t treat Maria with the respect she deserves, does it?”

“I don’t want her around here.  I don’t like her and she don’t like me.”

“She likes you just fine, Little Joe, but you keep up that attitude and I guarantee she’ll change her mind.  And, little brother, she’ll have darn good reason.”

Two things that changed right off was the way we were told to enter a room and the way we ate our supper.  We were to wipe our feet outside and enter the house like gentlemen rather than heathen banshees. There was no more running down the stairs.  Breakfast and lunch were pretty much the same, but Maria asked Hop Sing to serve dinner—like a waiter in a fancy restaurant—and he obliged.  He’d hold out a platter, and we’d serve ourselves rather than passin’ the foodstuffs to each other like we’d always done before.

Pa seemed pleased with the changes.  They wasn’t much really, but we had to watch ourselves so we’d do right by Pa’s new wife.  At least we didn’t have to dress for supper.

That would’ve put Little Joe right over the edge.

On Monday morning, Adam began getting organized for his trip to Boston.  He was putting stuff in a trunk that Pa would ship since it would be too heavy to carry.  I weren’t sure how Pa would get along without my older brother by his side, and I’d asked to quit school so I could take his place, but Pa wouldn’t have none of that kind of talk.

“Definitely not,” he said.

“But Pa—” I whined like Little Joe.  “I’m big as Adam and I can do the work.”

“No.  You’re not quitting school.  Not for at least two more years.”

“Two more years!”  I cried, but when Pa got that look, when he perched his hands on his hips and tightened his lips, I knew the discussion was over.  “Yessir.”

If Pa was willing to do the chores of two men, there weren’t nothin’ more I could say.  Little Joe and I would start school in the fall, and life would return to normal.  But, for now, I had chores to do, and I pulled Little Joe with me out to the barn.  It was time he learned how to muck.

                                                              *

Ben

“I haven’t discussed it with him yet, sweetheart, but I will tomorrow morning.”

“Do you think he’ll mind?”

“Of course not.  He’s watched over the boys many times before, and if we want any kind of honeymoon at all, it has to happen before he leaves for Boston.”

“Oh, Ben.  I can’t wait for us to be alone together, really alone.”

I reached for my wife and pulled her close beside me.  Sharing my bed with a woman again was heaven on earth.  Rain pattered against the roof and wind coming through the open window whirled our white, lace curtain in a circular motion.  “You cold?  Should I shut the window?”

“Not if you hold me tight.”

It had rained for two days straight.  Rivers were running high and the ground was saturated.  Mud puddles dotted the yard and every road leading in and out from the house.

Hoss and Joe had gone to bed early, and we’d said our “goodnights” to Adam before we turned in.  My eldest liked to stay up late and read, and at eighteen, he needed a little time for himself.  I knew the boys would be safe if we took a short honeymoon.  If nothing else, Adam might enjoy his solitude even more with Maria and me out of the house.

                                                             *

“You ready?”  I said as my new bride came down the stairs.  “We should be on our way.”

“I think I’ve got everything,” she said.  “At least, I hope so.”

I leaned in for a kiss.  “Don’t worry.  If it’s forgotten, we’ll buy a new one.”

“Oh, Ben.”

“Is the wagon ready Adam?”

“Hitched and ready to go.  I added extra bedding in case the rain doesn’t let up.”

I looked at my two younger sons.  “I want you to listen to your brother.  He’s in charge while I’m gone.”

“Yessir, Pa.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I know you’ll behave,” I said.  “Maria and I will only be gone a few days.  Can’t get in too much trouble in that short amount of time, can you?”

“Think again,” Adam said.

“You’ll all do fine.  If anything should—well, I’m sure nothing will.”

Adam opened the front door.  Rain splashed against the front porch as though it would never end.  I hoped the clouds would break and we could enjoy our outing.  Of course, being stuck inside the covered wagon wouldn’t be so bad either.

                                                             *

Hoss

“I’ve looked everywhere, Adam.”

“Why’d you leave him alone?  I was just gone a couple of hours.”

“He ain’t missin’, Adam.  I just went to the barn for a minute; he’s gotta be around here somewhere unless—unless he followed me outside.”

“With all this rain, why would he go outside?”

“‘Cause he’s six?”

“Oh, that’s great, Hoss.  Got any other fool ideas in that head of yours?”

“He’s troubled, Adam.  He misses our pa.”  Adam leaned heavily against Pa’s desk.  He was put out with me, but I didn’t do nothin’ wrong.  Sometimes, Little Joe was just plain ornery.

“Pa hasn’t been gone half a day, Hoss.  How can Joe miss him already?”

“Because he’s been missin’ him since the day he met Miss Maria.”

“What?”

“You know exactly what I mean.  Pa ain’t been around for months, and Joe misses what he ain’t got no more.  He ain’t got Pa, Adam, and for a little shaver like him, it means he’s lost everything.  He lost his mama, and now he’s lost Pa.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

I stared at my brother until he looked me straight in the eye.  “Is it, Adam?”

The rain never let up.  The sky was gray and the wind was cold, and there weren’t no sign of Little Joe.  After checking the house and the barn, Adam and I saddled up and rode out.  Joe hadn’t taken his pony so he couldn’t be far; at least that’s what we first thought.  Now, I wasn’t so sure.

We’d ridden for two hours.  We’d even separated for a while at met back up at Signal Rock.  Without his pony and with all the rain, there was no way to track a six-year-old boy who probably didn’t want to be found anyhow.

“Let’s check down by the stream, Hoss.”

“You think he went that far?”

“I have no idea, but the creek’s running high, and if he tried to cross …”

                                                              *

Adam and I sat in front of the fireplace and stared at Little Joe’s light brown jacket.  It’s all we found of our young brother, and neither of us was talking.  What could we say?  Next to Buckhorn Creek where Joe and I fished just last Sunday, his jacket had been draped over a bush in plain sight, like it was hung there for our benefit, but why?  That’s what me and Adam couldn’t figure out.

“Nothin’ more we can do tonight, “ I said.

“No, we’ll start out early tomorrow.  Maybe we can round up some neighbors to help us search.”

“Good enough.”

Book 2 – 1856

Adam

“Ben, oh, Ben,” she cried when Pa opened the front door.

The old woman practically fell into Pa’s arms in her rush to get inside the house.  Looking over the top of her head toward me, I could tell that her animated entrance had stunned our father, but he did the best he could to console the crazy lady wrapped in his arms.  “What is it, Dorothy?  What on earth’s the matter?”

“It’s him.”

“Him?  Him who?”  Pa squawked.

After containing herself enough that she could talk without sobbing, she took a deep breath.  “Your Joseph.”

Pa smiled at the memory of his six-year-old son, but his reaction was brief.  When realization hit, when her words actually sank in, he grabbed her arms and looked straight into her eyes.  “What do you mean ‘my Joseph’?”

“I can’t be sure, but I just know it’s him.  He-he was walking alongside the road that runs along Buckhorn Creek.”

“After all this time, my son was just walking along?”

We’d had numerous sightings in the early days after Joe’s disappearance, but nothing ever panned out.  We’d been on several wild goose chases before.

“Oh, the poor soul,” she cried.  “A ragamuffin, but I coaxed him into my carriage and took him home with me.”

“You mean he’s there now?”

“Yes.  I cleaned him up some and fed him all he could eat.  I laid him on a bed in one of the empty guest rooms and left Mr. Hornsby to watch over him.  I had to come tonight, Ben.  I had to let you know.”

“Dorothy—” Pa said.  “I don’t understand what you’re saying.  Joseph died nearly eight years ago.  When there was no sign, we had to assume he’d fallen and drowned in Buckhorn Creek.  I don’t think he’d suddenly appear after eight long years.”

“You have to listen to me, Ben.  I’m not making this up.  I’d know that boy anywhere.”

The Widow Potts, along with teaching school and mending men’s britches, took in boarders like Mr. Hornsby to make ends meet.  She’d also taken Joe and Hoss in after Marie died.  When Pa had to be out of town, and I was too busy with ranch work to watch over two little boys, I’d drop them off in the morning and pick them up before supper.  Though Joe wasn’t school age, he sat in on her class with Hoss, and as a little tyke; he was already learning his numbers and could point out words on a page.

“Calm down now, Dorothy,” Pa said.  “Adam, why don’t you ride back with Mrs. Potts and have a look at the boy.”

My father didn’t believe any part of the old lady’s fantastic tale, but he didn’t want to seem rude or uncaring so I was elected to go look at some orphan kid that she insisted was my long, lost brother.  Eight years.  Joe would be fourteen by now.  Would I even recognize him if, in fact, what Mrs. Potts said were true?

I strapped on my gunbelt and picked up my hat.  “I’ll saddle my horse, ma’am, and follow you home.”  

Catching a glimpse of Maria standing at the top of the stairs, I wondered what thoughts ran through her mind.  When all hopes of finding Joe were lost, Maria did her best to keep Pa’s spirits up.  We all did, but she was determined to make their marriage work despite Pa’s grief over losing his baby son.  She was a good woman and an even better wife.  Pa was a very lucky man.

Maria also enjoyed the limelight.  She and my father were often invited to banquets and such that the Governor would host for the more prominent men residing in the Utah Territory.  Brigham Young valued Pa’s suggestions and approved of the way he did business.  Maria fulfilled Pa’s needs, and he took pride in the fact that her arm was wrapped around his during social events.  He was becoming an influential man in the territory, and I had to give Maria credit.  She was behind him one hundred percent.

I’d been to college and back, though I’d left for Boston a year later than I’d planned.  I couldn’t leave Pa and Hoss; at least, not then.  Our lives had been turned upside down; we’d searched everywhere for the kid.  Letters were sent to surrounding stations and missions to keep a lookout for a missing six-year-old boy.  Brown hair, green eyes, slight in stature, and we heard nothing.  Joe had simply vanished somewhere near Buckhorn Creek.

Hoss was a grown man, and we worked side-by-side.  The Ponderosa had prospered over the years.  Pa had made wise investments, and the ranch had doubled in size since those early days of near despondency.  Pa took a different route after Joe disappeared.  He delved into work like a man possessed.  He worked from sunup to sundown seven days a week, and Maria never complained.  She understood what Joe’s absence had done to our father, and I think she was even more important to him at that time than either Hoss or I.

Our lives changed drastically during that first year.  No more worshiping an uncaring god.  Though Hoss and I would try to make conversation, suppertime was a quiet affair.  There was no more mention of Joe.  He was gone, and for Pa, it was as if his young son had never existed.  The loss was too overwhelming.  Maria, the only person who could comfort him, was always by his side.  

I slid off Sport in front of Mrs. Potts’ home.  She’d done well for herself, considering her limited income.  Pink and purple flowers lined the front walkway, and the house had a fresh coat of whitewash.  I offered to unhitch her horse and put the rig in the barn, but she said no.  “This is too important, Adam.  Mr. Hornsby will do that later.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I thought she might offer me a seat in the parlor with her boarder and bring the boy down from the upstairs guest room, but that wasn’t the case.  I tipped my hat to Mr. Hornsby and followed the widow up the stairs.  “He’s in this room,” she said as she pushed open the door.  I followed her inside but hesitated until she lit the small glass lamp next to the bed.

The boy, who’d been lying on his side, sat up immediately when light showed in his eyes.  Furiously, he scooted to the edge of the bed until he was smack against the wall.  He pulled his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around tightly.  He lowered his head and hid his face from me.

I stared at his clothing.  His trousers were inches too short and his feet were crusted with filth.  Unable to button the cuffs of a threadbare shirt that was, at least, two sizes too small, he had a mop of tangled brown hair that hung past his eyes and ears.  His shoulder bones were prominent and his face was pasty and gaunt.  The lamp barely provided enough light to grasp much more until the boy raised his head from his knees and looked up, and that’s when I stared into the face of my “dead” brother.

Tears threatened.  My eyes burned hot, and I nearly collapsed to the floor.  Mrs. Potts took hold of my arm.  “It’s him, isn’t it?”

Words wouldn’t form so I nodded my head, affirming the same conclusion the widow had come to just a few hours earlier.  I had no doubt in my mind.  The boy, so frail and covered in weeks, maybe months of grime, was my brother, Little Joe Cartwright.

“My, God,” I mumbled.

“Do you need to sit down?”

“I think so.”

Mrs. Potts pulled a ladder-back chair up next to the bed, and when I reached for its tall back to steady myself, my hand was shaking.  I sucked in a deep breath and whispered my brother’s name.  “Joe?”

He seemed to hear me; his eyes moved slightly.  There was no acknowledgment, but what did I expect after all this time?  Most of his life had been spent away from his family.  Did he have a clue who I was?  I looked up at Mrs. Potts.  “It’s him.  It’s Joe.”

“Do you want him to stay the night?  You and your father can collect him in the morning if that would be better.”

“No,” I said too loudly.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I mean I’m a little overwhelmed right now, but I’ll take him with me.”

“That’s why I left the rig hitched, Adam.”

“Thank you kindly, Mrs. Potts, but Joe can ride double with me.”

“Adam Cartwright,” she scolded.  “Use your head and take the wagon.  The boy isn’t well.”

The widow was right.  “Thank you.”  I stood from my chair.  “Thank you for everything, Ma’am.”  

I sat down on the edge of the bed and took an even closer look.  “Joe.  I’m your brother, Adam.  I’m going to take you home to Pa, okay?”  Joe didn’t make a sound, but I didn’t notice resentment or fear either.  He seemed okay with the plan, and I reached for his hand.  “Will you come with me?  We’ll take one more ride in Mrs. Potts’ wagon.”

When I stood to my feet, Joe took my hand and scooted to the edge of the bed.  He slid his bare feet to the floor, and I pulled him to his full height.  He was small for fourteen.  He looked only ten or eleven, but there was no denying that the waif of a boy was my brother.  

That wasn’t all I noticed about his appearance, though, but we’d discuss that later.  Since the kid hadn’t said a word, he certainly wasn’t up for a detailed explanation concerning the calloused marks on his wrists and ankles.  Hands that revealed fresh cuts and long-healed scars indicated he might have tried to free himself from handcuffs or chains more than once during his years of captivity.

“Are you ready to go?”  Silence.  “Okay then,” I said.  “Let’s get you downstairs.”  I moved slowly, and Joe followed.  Mrs. Potts brought up the rear.

“Wait,” she said.  On a tree stand by the front door, she reached for an old, gray jacket.  “Wrap him in this, Adam.  It’s a bit chilly tonight.”

I slid the oversized coat over Joe’s shoulders and led him out the front door.  

“Oh, Adam,” she said.  “I’ll dig through my trunk first thing in the morning and see if I have anything that might fit the boy.  If not, I can always alter him a suit of clothes for now.”

I’d turned back to face Mrs. Potts.  “I can’t thank you enough.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow, son.  You get that boy home to his papa.”

While I tethered Sport to the back of the wagon, Joe climbed in unassisted.  My hands were still shaking, and I fumbled with the reins like a nervous schoolboy.  If I was this flustered, I couldn’t imagine where Pa’s thoughts would take him when I walked through the front door with Joe.

Hoss wasn’t home when I left the house.  If he’d returned by now, I’m sure Pa would’ve mentioned where I’d gone and why, and I could almost picture the look on my brother’s face.  Anticipation of what might be true would glisten in his sky-blue eyes, but our father would tamper his excitement by stating the obvious.  Joe had been dead for eight years, and Mrs. Potts was an old woman and probably had questionable eyesight.

After pulling into the yard, I jumped down, opened the barn doors, grabbed the harness, and led the horses and wagon and Sport inside.  Joe sat completely still until I reached for his hand and helped him down.  “I’ll stable the horses later.  Let’s get you inside the house first.”

Pa must have heard us ride in.  The front door opened and buttery light from inside the house silhouetted my father’s form, but he stood in place as Joe and I crossed the yard.  When we came to stand on the porch and lantern light showed on the boy’s face, I thought my father might collapse.  If Hoss hadn’t come to stand beside him and held onto my father’s arm, I think he might’ve gone down.

“Adam?”  Pa said.

“It’s him, Pa.  It’s Joe.”

Pa stepped forward.  He stood right in front of his baby son and gaped in disbelief.  “Joseph?  Little Joe?”  Pa brought his hands to Joe’s cheeks and studied the kid’s face.  Joe gripped my hand tighter.  It was the first sign of fear I witnessed.  Was Little Joe afraid of our father?

“Let’s go inside, Pa.”

Hoss stared, wide-eyed and not sure what to believe.  “It’s really him, ain’t it?”

“I believe so, brother.”

I guided Joe to the settee and nodded for him to sit down.  Pa rushed to sit on the table in front of him.  Their knees were nearly touching, but Pa had realized enough to hold back and not bombard the kid with a hundred questions.  

“He hasn’t said a word,” I said, “and he’s probably dead tired.  We don’t know how far he traveled so maybe we should all get some rest, and then tomorrow . . .”

My words went right over Pa’s head.  He laid his hand on Joe’s left knee.  “It’s Pa, son.  I’m your father, and Hoss,” —Pa glanced up at Hoss, who stood at his side— “do you remember your brother, Hoss?”

“Hey, shortshanks.  You remember ol’ Hoss?”

Joe stared at both men, but there didn’t seem to be a hint of recollection.  There was no movement on his part either.  Joe sat like a frozen statue.  Afraid?  Confused maybe?  I couldn’t be certain.

“Pa—” I said, repeating myself.  “Can this wait till tomorrow?  The kid’s exhausted.”

“Ben?  What’s going on?”  Her voice came from the top of the stairs, and Joe’s head jerked to the side.  Wearing her dressing gown and slippers, Maria called down to Pa.

“Oh, darling.  You’ll never guess who’s sitting right in front of me.  It’s my son, my Joseph.  Come down, dear, and see for yourself.”

Maria was hesitant, and I appreciated her for that.  She was smart enough to realize that too many people staring down at a frightened young boy was too much at this point.

“Why don’t you go on upstairs with Maria, Pa?  I’ll put Joe to bed in his old room.  We have all day tomorrow to get re-acquainted.”

“I’ll put Joseph to bed, son.”  Pa reached for my brother’s hand, but Joe slid back on the settee and jerked his hand away as though he’d been scalded by a burning, hot stove.

“Let me, Pa.  Just this once, just tonight.”

My father looked heartbroken but he agreed with my suggestion.  “All right,” he said.  “Goodnight, Joseph, and … and welcome home, son.”

                                                             *

Hoss

I moved aside so Pa could slide over and go upstairs to Maria.  He moved like a snail, kept lookin’ back over his shoulder, and I couldn’t blame him.  We was all in shock.  Adam took hold of Joe’s hand and pulled him to his feet.  He spoke softly.  “Let’s get you into bed,” he said.

“Mind if I come?”  I asked.

“Should be fine,” Adam said, smiling down at Joe.  “Just hang back some for now.”

I followed my brothers up the stairs.  Brothers, the word didn’t seem real, but it was.  It was as real as the smile on my face.  Little Joe was home.  He hadn’t said nothin’ yet but he would.  He was just scared is all.  Good food, a soft bed, and a family who cared would bring him around quicker’n anything.”

“Go get one of my nightshirts, will you, Hoss?”

I rushed out of the room and did Adam’s bidding.  Pa hadn’t thrown any of Joe’s things away.  His dresser still held clothes fitting a six-year-old boy, no use to anyone now.  Adam’s nightclothes would have to do until we could get my brother—I loved sayin’ that word—fitted with some decent clothes.

We all saw what he was wearing, clothes that was too small for a boy his age, and no shoes on his feet.  Where had he been and what had he gone through?  Would we ever know the whole truth?  Had he been caged like an animal or had he labored in the fields?  Had he pushed a plow or had he been kept in some dark, secret place?  The marks on his wrists and ankles were proof he’d been held captive somewhere by someone, but who’d do a thing like that?  Who’d want to hurt an innocent little boy?  “Can I help?”  

“I’ve about got him changed, Hoss, but we could use a cloth and some warm water.”

“Right,” I said.  “I’ll get Hop Sing.”

Hop Sing was already dressed and in the kitchen by the time I got downstairs.  “Water almost ready,” he said.  “Little boy not go bed dirty.”

“Did you see Little Joe?”

“Hop Sing see.”

Hop Sing knew when to be of service and when his presence wasn’t required, but he hadn’t missed Joe comin’ through the front door.  He would never interrupt an unexpected homecoming with a bunch of useless chatter, but he was there when we needed him most.

“Water ready.  You clean boy up real good.”

“I will, Hop Sing, and thanks.”

I grabbed a few clean rags and rushed the hot water upstairs.  Dressed in Adam’s nightshirt, Joe sat on the edge of the bed.  Adam had rolled up the sleeves and my brother’s calloused wrists were exposed.  We each took a clean cloth and started in on the boy.  I pulled a chair up to the bed and propped one of Joe’s feet on my lap.

“Gonna clean you up some, okay?  Don’t wanna put dirty feet against them clean sheets, right?”  I looked into my brother’s eyes but there was nothing.  “I got a better idea,” I said.  “Maybe we oughta soak ‘em a while.  Hang on little buddy.”  Adam was using Joe’s basin to clean his hands and arms, and I ran to my room and grabbed my own.  “Here we go.  That’ll work just fine.”  I set the basin on the floor and filled it halfway with warm water.  “Stick them feet right in there, Little Joe.”

I looked up at Adam and he winked his approval.  I was so afraid of scarin’ the boy; I took things real slow and easy.  I sat back down in the chair and stared down at Joe’s battered feet.  I didn’t expect he’d had shoes on since he outgrew the pair he was wearin’ when he disappeared all them years ago, but my imagination got the better of me, and I tried to slow down my thinkin’.  Nothing had been said and I tried not to think the worst, but how could I not when it was Joe’s life we was talking about?

Adam was making progress.  His water weren’t clean anymore.  “Maybe I should get another bucket,” I said.

“We’re probably good enough for tonight.  Tomorrow, he can have a real bath.”

Joe looked up, and when he jerked his feet from the basin, I turned my head.  Pa stood in the doorway.  He hadn’t come in, but he was curious all the same.  “That’s just Pa, Little Joe.  No reason to be scared.  Me and you and Adam is all brothers, and that man” —I pointed to the doorway— “is our pa.”

Pa probably didn’t look the same to Joe.  Our father’s hair was nearly black when Joe disappeared.  Now, it was streaked with gray.  A few more lines etched his face, but otherwise, he hadn’t changed; at least, in my eyes.  Not so sure about Joe or why his reaction to Pa seemed so fearful.

The soakin’ time had passed and I dried Joe’s feet.  Adam did the same with his hands and arms, and Joe slid under the covers of his bed.  He lay very still; his eyes looked straight ahead as though he wondered what would happen next.

“Goodnight, little brother,” I said.  “Me and Adam are right down the hall if you need us.”

“Goodnight, Joe,” Adam followed, and we left the bedroom together.

“Guess we both better get some sleep.”  Pa had gone back to his room and shut the door behind him.  I felt bad for him, but I didn’t know what I should do.

“I think so.  Tomorrow might be a very long day.  Night, Hoss.”

                                                             *

Adam

I was beat, and it didn’t take long before I was sound asleep.  When the wind picked up, signs of a summer storm brewing, a low-hanging branch scraped the side of the house and woke me from a dead sleep.  When my bedroom door opened, I turned my head to the sound.  It was Joe.  Just like that six-year-old boy who’d climbed into my bed when ghosts and goblins made noises in the night, he crawled under the covers beside me.

I didn’t say a word and neither did he.  He turned his back to me and I did the same.  He fell asleep but I was wide awake.  My, God.  Eight long years and we didn’t have a clue.  

When I couldn’t lie there any longer, I slid out of bed and left Joe to sleep on his own.  Quietly, I dressed for the day but carried my boots until I was out of the room.  I pulled them on when I got to the main floor and headed toward the breakfast table where my father was already seated.  “Morning,” I said.

“Good morning, son.  Sleep well?”

I chuckled.  “I had company.”

“What?”  Pa’s coffee cup hung in the air.

“Your baby son,” I said.  “He crawled in my bed halfway through the night.”

Pa shook his head.  “Some things never change.”

“But everything else has, Pa.”

Hop Sing marched out with a cup and saucer and a fresh pot of coffee.  I sat to my father’s right so we could share the pot.  I poured myself a cup and considered what I should say, but Pa was eager to talk.

“He’s taken to you, Adam.”

“Yeah, although I’m not sure why.”

Pa steepled his hands and tapped his chin with his index finger.  “There’s something he sees in me that he doesn’t like.”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far.”

“You saw his reaction, son.  Joseph is afraid of me.”

I sipped my coffee.  “Don’t jump the gun, Pa.  Until Joe’s ready to talk we don’t know anything of the kind.”

“Yes, we do, Adam.  He fears me for some reason.  I see it in his eyes and don’t tell me you didn’t see it too.”

“Maybe because I went to the widow’s house.  I think he recognized me, but I can’t be sure.”

“Joseph seems fine around Hoss.”

Pa had me there, and I had no explanation to give.  “I don’t know what to say, Pa.  We’ll just have to take it slow until he opens up and we find out the truth.”

“I know.”

God help me.  My father was a beaten man, and I couldn’t ease his pain.  Hoss clambered down the stairs with his usual loud gait and Pa and I both looked up.  “You’re worse than a stampede,” I said.

“It’s a fine day,” he replied, ignoring my comment completely.  His smile outweighed all the noise he made when he entered the room.  “Little Joe still sleepin’?”

“Yeah.  In my bed.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me.”

Hoss took the seat across from me, and Hop Sing rushed out with another cup and saucer.  “Was he scared or somethin’?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“No, I guess he wouldn’t.  Has he said anything at all?”

“Nope.”

“Maybe I should go check on him—you know, in case he doesn’t know—or maybe he don’t remember where he is.”

“Go ahead,” I said.

Hoss charged up the stairs just like he’d come down.  We were all thrilled to have Joe back with us, but it showed more on Hoss.  He couldn’t hide how excited he was to have his little brother living and breathing under the same roof as him.  My gut told me he’d be the one to get Joe moving on the right path, to get him to open up about the last eight years of his life.

Maria wasn’t a morning person, and in some ways, she reminded me of Joe’s ma, Marie.  The role of a rancher’s wife had been difficult for both women.  They’d each been quite adept at city life, and they’d both tried to adjust to ranch life, but neither of Pa’s wives accepted the fact that ranchers started their day at dawn.  Thank goodness for Hop Sing or we’d all starve to death.

As Hop Sing brought out platters of food, Hoss and Joe stood at the top of the stairs.  Joe still wore my nightshirt, and there was no way I was putting those worn-out, filthy clothes back on my young brother.  “Mrs. Potts might have something suitable he could wear.  I’ll ride back over after breakfast.”

“We owe her a great deal, son.  I don’t know how we’ll ever repay that woman.”

“Maybe she could use another milk cow.”

“That’s just the ticket, Adam.”

“Dixie’s offspring,” we said in unison.

“Great minds think alike,” Pa said, and while we chuckled, which seemed foreign anymore, Hoss headed down the stairs.

“See,” Hoss said to Joe.  “Told you there’d be hot food on the table.”  Hoss had started down, but Joe stayed put.  “Come on, little buddy.  Ain’t you hungry?”  Hoss reached out his hand and Joe took hold.  They came down the stairs together.

“Morning, Joe,” I said.

“Good morning, son.”

Joe moved behind Hoss after Pa spoke.  “Come on.  Ain’t no one here gonna hurt you, boy.”  

Hoss had Joe sit next to him, but not next to Pa.  It was best for now.  I passed the platter of eggs, and Hoss dished up a pile for Joe and a pile for himself.  He put ham on both plates, grabbed two biscuits, and plopped one down for each of them.  “Dig in while it’s still hot, boy.”  Though tentative at first, Hoss nudged Joe with his elbow and the kid gobbled up everything in sight.

I got a kick out of watching my brothers scarf food like there was no tomorrow, but I realized the day was slipping away.  “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” I said.  Since Hoss and Joe hadn’t heard Pa’s and my conversation, none of us expected my young brother’s reaction.  His eyes widened like saucers and he shook his head violently.

“Joe,” Hoss said.  “Little Joe, what’s wrong?”  A low-sounding moan escaped the boy’s lips.  “Is it Adam?  Adam leavin’?  Is that what’s worryin’ you so?”  Joe fisted his hands and slammed the table.  Coffee cups rattled, and empty plates bounced up and down.  Hoss grabbed the kid’s hands and steadied him.  “No, Joseph.  We don’t do that here.”

“I don’t think you should leave him,” Pa said.  “Why don’t Maria and I drive over?  That way you can stay here with your brothers.”

“All right.”

“I need to thank Dorothy for all she’s done anyway.  And—” Pa said, “Maria and I will stop at Mormon Station and pick up some coffee and sugar for Hop Sing, and maybe a sweetnin’ for Joe.  I think I’ll pack us a picnic lunch and make a day of it.  That way, you’ll have more time alone with these two.

“Come on, Joe,” Hoss said.  “You and me can hitch up the wagon.”

                                                             *

Ben

“A real day off,” Maria said as we drove toward Mrs. Potts.  “I never thought I’d see the day you didn’t sit yourself down at that desk and work on the books.”

“Oh, come on, now.  Have I been that bad?”

“Do you want the truth, Ben?”

“I have, haven’t I?”  

I flicked the reins and the horse took on a livelier gait.  “It feels good, doesn’t it?  From now on, I promise we’ll do this more often.  You deserve more happiness than I’ve given you over these troublesome years.”

“You had your reasons.”  

“Not anymore darling,” I said.  Even though Joe hadn’t warmed up to me, I couldn’t keep from smiling.  “Never in my lifetime did I expect Joseph to walk through that door.”

“Neither did I.”

I chuckled softly.  “You make it sound—I don’t know … ominous.”

“Ominous?  I’m just as thrilled as you are, Ben.”

“For a minute there, I wasn’t sure.”

“Don’t be silly darling.  Nothing will ever compare to Joe’s homecoming except maybe your enthusiasm in the bedroom last night.”

“Maria, really.”

“I’m not telling tales, am I?”

My wife moved closer to me and slipped her hand about my arm.  She was a loving woman, a joyful diversion to life’s problems, and I hadn’t been the kind of husband she’d hoped for.  I’d given her monetary items, but never the full effects of my love.  I’d supported her charitable work, even given a substantial amount to a friend who’d fallen on hard times, but I’d never given her much of myself.

Now that Joseph was home and our family was complete, I vowed our lives together would change.  Once Little Joe was well, I could arrange a few more day trips for just the two of us.  Maria deserved the best of everything, and I was determined to make that happen.

“We’ll begin anew,” I said.  “The honeymoon is just beginning, sweetheart.  Adam’s old enough to take on more responsibility, and Hoss; well, he’s a grown man and can help both of his brothers.  I’ll have more time to spend with my beautiful, incredible wife.”

Maria’s grip tightened on my arm.  “That sounds wonderful, Ben.”

I knocked on the widow’s front door and heard footsteps rushing across her front parlor.  “Dorothy,” I said.

“Ben, Mrs. Cartwright, won’t you come in.  I’m so glad you stopped by.  I wasn’t sure I could get away today, but I’ve found some things for Joseph.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” I said.  “What would we do without you?”

“Oh, Ben.  I only do what I can.  Come have a seat.  Can I offer you some coffee?  Tea?”

“No, no we won’t be staying.  We have to get down to the station for supplies, but if there’s anything you need, we’d be glad to pick something up for you.”

“As a matter of fact, I could use a new spool of white thread.  Jacob keeps a good supply on hand, and I’m always in need.”

“Done,” I said, and I could pick up a little trinket if Jacob had anything worthwhile.  Maria would know best what a widow woman might like.

“Here’s what I found for Joseph.  I hemmed the pants last night and took in the waistband.  The shirt—well, he’ll just have to roll up the sleeves.”

“This is perfect, Dorothy.  I can’t thank you enough.”

“Just seeing that boy was enough for me, Ben.  How’s he getting on?”

“We’ve got a ways to go.”  I wasn’t going to tell her everything.  “He’s not talking yet.”

“Give him time.  He’s such a precious child.”

“Thank you again,” I said.  “We’ll stop by on our way back.”

I picked up three spools of white thread, a brown and a black, and set them on Jacob’s counter.  After telling him I needed coffee and sugar, and five cents worth of licorice, I added twenty pounds of flour now that Hop Sing was cooking for five.  I noticed Maria eyeing a stunning, blue dress one of the local women had made, and I told the shopkeeper we’d take that too.

“Don’t be silly.  I don’t need a new dress.”

“Oh, but you do, my dear.  And, I want you to pick something out for Mrs. Potts, something pretty.”

Mormon Station didn’t offer much more than needed supplies but every now and then, Jacob would trade for a few trinkets if he thought they would sell, but he had nothing this time that stood out.

“You think she’d like this?”

Maria held up a jar of molasses, sometimes hard to come by, but a genuine treat when drizzled over cornbread.  “Perfect,” I said.

Of course, Dorothy Potts said the extra items were too much when I handed her the package, but I insisted.  Since I’d only planned to make a quick delivery and we’d be on our way, Maria stayed seated in the wagon while I handed the widow the small tokens of my appreciation.  I told her one of my boys would bring over a new milk cow sometime next week.

“You’re a very generous man, Ben Cartwright.”  

“Don’t you think a thing about it,” I said.  “You deserve much more.”  

Hop Sing had packed us a picnic lunch, and we stopped on the way home and spread a blanket alongside Buckhorn Creek.  And then it hit me.  We were in the very same location Adam said he and Hoss had found Little Joe’s jacket, the last telltale sign of my boy.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but this isn’t a good spot.”  My mood darkened faster than a raincloud blocking the sun.  I picked up the blanket and basket and threw them in the back of the wagon.  “I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Ben, what happened?  What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, dear, but we’ll have to picnic another day.”

I slapped the reins and we headed toward home.  Just the sight of that damn river chilled me to the bone.  Joseph was home but what had my boy endured and how had he escaped his captors?  I needed answers.  I wanted to know every detail of every year I missed.  I smacked the reins even harder.

My wife deserved answers too.  I’d taken all my pent-up anger and thrown it right in her face.  I wasn’t the man I used to be.  I was bitter.  I worked day and night and ignored those around me.  I hadn’t been a caring father or a loving husband, and if I carried the burden of grief any longer, Joseph could easily see me as the enemy.  Maria, Adam, and Hoss.  My family had suffered greatly, and I’d been the primary cause.

I’m sorry, my love.  The words rattled in my head, but why couldn’t I say them aloud?

                                                             *

Adam

We walked through the next two weeks on eggshells.  Joe was still as fragile as the night I’d brought him home.  He never spoke a word although he watched every move we made.  Unless I suggested otherwise, my gaunt shell of a brother would sit and stare at the fire.  Sometimes, he worried his hands.  Sometimes, his body trembled or jerked unexpectedly.  A single tear might escape, and he’d turn and hide his head.  I knew enough to leave him alone, but I couldn’t help but wonder what unpleasant thoughts ran through his mind.

An idea came to me and I thought it was worth a try.  I rummaged through Pa’s desk and found a new bottle of ink, a pen, and a plain sheet of paper.  I took them to the dining room table and called Joe over.

“I have something for you,” I said.  “Come give it a try.

Joe followed orders without complaint.  He did everything I asked, and I had to assume that obedience had been driven into him over the years.  The spontaneous, carefree little boy was gone.  The new Joe was reluctant to participate but acted on command.

“Pen and paper,” I said.  “You think you can draw something for me?”  Hoss walked out of the kitchen with sugar on his chin and a fresh donut in his hand.  “Did you leave any for us?”

“Sure did,” he said.  “I’ll bring ‘em out.”

I pulled a chair out for Joe and dipped the pen in ink.  “Here you go.  Can you draw a picture for Hoss and me?”

I’d nearly forgotten Joe was left-handed.  He showed signs early on, and I remember Mrs. Potts trying to direct the pen to his right hand when he was just a little tyke, but she told me he balked at the idea.  I’d suggested she let him use his left and she, in turn, balked at me.  Now, I knew for sure.  Joe reached for the pen with his left hand.

Though uncertain at first, he began scribbling angry, dark lines.  When Hoss set a plate of donuts on the table, Joe never looked up.  He dipped his pen and continued to run it hard across the paper until I thought the tip would break and fly across the room.  Pa’s brand new pen.  I’d have to restock the next time we needed supplies.

“That’s probably enough, Joe.  We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Joe laid the pen down and stood from the chair; he returned to his seat on the settee.  I looked at Hoss, an uneaten donut in his hand said he was as worried as I.  No fourteen-year-old boy should hold that much anger inside.  This was the first we’d seen of his exacting rage.  It was troubling.

Hoss and I would never mention a word in front of Joe, but we talked that night in the privacy of my room.  “I ain’t never seen anything like it,” Hoss said.

“He’s an angry young man.”

“Anger don’t begin to describe what that boy’s holdin’ back.”

“We have to get him to talk.  I think he knows who took him, and if we find out that much, we’ll eventually know why.”  The kid didn’t drown in Buckhorn Creek; we were only made to think he was dead, but why was he let go or did he escape?  So many unanswered questions.

“But how we gonna do that, Adam?”

I shook my head.  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  “I wish I knew.”

Pa’s mood had changed drastically over the last two weeks.  After his and Maria’s outing, he’d come home angry and he stayed angry.  He’d sit at his desk for hours.  He didn’t have much to say, and I suspected Joe’s avoidance of him had something to do with his mood.  Like our troubles with Joe, I didn’t know anything for sure.  I guessed at everything these days.

I’d tried the pen and paper each day following the first, and a pattern began to develop.  The anger was still there, but there was more.  Joe always started out the same.  Angry lines nearly shredded the page, but he began to add different shapes.

One day, there were up and down lines, straight lines that could’ve resembled a jail cell.  I was guessing again, but had the boy been caged?  Had he lived eight years behind bars?  Another time, I thought he added stick figures between the angry lines, but I couldn’t be sure.  If my guess was right, he’d either drawn himself and his captor or maybe there’d been two people involved.  Damn it.  Frustration wasn’t a good enough word.

Hoss and I rode out to work every day, and we took Joe with us.  Eyes that showed panic wouldn’t allow us to leave him behind.  Our father groused at the idea of Joe being forced to work, but there was no denying the facts.  Joe wasn’t comfortable around Pa—or Maria.

Our home-life had become uncomfortable, almost unbearable.  Pa and Maria barely spoke, not that they were unhappy or fighting with each other, they’d just gone their separate ways.  While Maria spent most of her time upstairs when Joe was inside the house, Pa sat at his desk.  Whether he worked on the books or only pretended was anyone’s guess.  Things had to change before our home life crumbled like ashes, and I came up with an idea though running it by Pa would be complicated.  I knew how he’d react, but I had to try.  As soon as the two of us were alone, I laid out my proposal.

“May I have a minute, Pa?”

“Of course, son.  What’s on your mind?”

The absence of Joe in the room made all the difference.  If only for a brief moment, Pa acted his old self.  “I want to take Joe away,” I said.

“Away?”  Pa chuckled.  “Why on earth would you do that?”

“I don’t know.”  I palmed both hands on Pa’s desk and looked into questioning eyes.  “Maybe . . . maybe if he’s away from the house, I can break through that wall of protection he’s hiding behind.”

“I don’t know, Adam.”

“What can it hurt, Pa?  We’re getting nowhere with him here.  Let me try.”

Pa stood.  He rounded his desk and came to stand next to me.  “You’ll be careful,” he said.  “I can’t lose my son again.”

“I will, Pa.  Nothing will happen to Joe.”

                                                             *

I helped the kid pack the following morning, and we rode out after breakfast.  Hoss said goodbye and shook Joe’s hand, but when Pa tried the same, he’d moved too close.  Fearful again, Joe stepped back.  His lack of empathy for our father left an empty pit in my stomach, and I vowed not to bring the boy home until the matter was resolved.  Pa couldn’t take much more.

Riding with my brothers earlier in the week had given me the idea.  We’d passed a line shack not far from Buckhorn Creek and not far from where we’d discovered Joe’s little jacket.  Would facing the memories of that day help or could it destroy him?  

The cabin wasn’t far, and we unsaddled our horses an hour after we’d left the house.  Joe helped me unload our supplies but hesitated before he stepped inside.  I started a fire in the stove.  “We’ll need more wood later,” I said, “but that’ll do for now.”  It’s funny how a man can fill dead air with his own voice, but that’s exactly what I did.  Unfortunately, we’d been doing that for weeks.

Joe stood by the door as if waiting for another command.  “You hungry?  No, probably not.  It’s too early to eat.  Maybe we could do a little fishing.  There’s a stream nearby. Fresh trout sound good for supper?  That’s the one thing I know how to cook.”  I was rambling and wondered if Joe was growing as tired of my voice as I was.  “Come on.  Grab the poles.  Let’s give it a try.”

We settled ourselves on the bank of Buckhorn Creek, but Joe seemed cautious, unsteady.  His pole didn’t rest easy in the water, and I wondered if he knew how close we were to the site of that fatal day—as we called it—eight years ago.  The sun was high overhead when we threw our lines in the water and whether he liked it or not, I began talking again.

“I brought you here for a reason, Joe.”  The kid didn’t move or make eye contact; he stared at the end of his line.  “Down the way is where we found your jacket the day you vanished.”  My brother tensed.  I was glad for the reaction, but I felt uneasy.  “Pa didn’t let go of that coat for days.  He clutched it to his chest.  He cried, Joe.  He cried for his lost little boy.”

A low moan escaped from Joe’s throat, but even after hearing the rough, guttural sound, I persisted.  “Talk to me, Joe.  Tell me what happened.”  There were no words but the kid’s whimpering increased.  “Please.”

“Pushed,” he mumbled.

Damn.  I wanted to clap and cheer.  The first word had been spoken, but what did it mean?  “Were you pushed into the creek?”

Joe nodded.

“Someone pushed you?”

Silence.

“Did you know him?  Do you know who pushed you?”

Silence.

“Was he a big man?  A strong man?”

Silence.

My, God.  What could I say to break through?  Joe dropped his pole and covered his eyes.  “I asked some hard questions, buddy, but I’m glad you answered me.  You did good, and I’m proud of you.”

“Woman.”

Had I heard him right?  “Did you say … woman?”  Nothing was forthcoming, and I needed so much more.  “A woman pushed you in the creek?”

Silence.

I set my pole aside; there’d be no fresh fish for supper.  “Do you know her name?  Did she tell you her name?”

Joe pushed to his feet and ran away from the water.  Was he afraid to tell me?  Of course, he was.  Did he fear going back to … wherever?  I followed but I gave him plenty of room.  He headed downriver and stopped near the area where he must have gone in.  I stood behind him.  I was a patient man.  I had all the time in the world.

“It was deeper that day,” I said.  “The creek was cresting the bank.”

“Brung here.”

I worked the puzzle in my head.

“Kicked her.”

“A woman brought you here … and you kicked her?  You tried to get away?”

“Didn’t wanna come.”

“No, Joe, I’m sure you didn’t.”

Joe’s back was to me.  His shoulders shook and without seeing his face, I knew he was crying.  Still, I waited for more.  I stared down at the stream.  It ran low, barely more than a trickle but the day Joe disappeared, we’d had several days of rain and the creek had swollen to the top of its bank.  It would’ve been deep enough to trip a small boy up, especially if he’d been pushed from behind.

“Mama,” he whispered.

Not sure if I’d heard him right, I leaned in closer.  Had the woman told him his mama would be here?  No.  We’d explained death, and he understood his mother was never coming back.  He’d accepted the fact.  I waited, but the kid said nothing more.  I reached for his hand.  “That’s enough for now,” I said.  “Let’s go back to the cabin.”

I warmed the ham and beans Hop Sing had sent for our supper but neither of us ate enough to make serving the meal worthwhile.  I had no idea what Joe was thinking or what memories he was trying to escape.  We were all numb after Marie died, and though I tried not to think of that awful scene in the yard, her loss was all I ever thought about for days, weeks even.  I dreamed that her death wasn’t real, that I’d wake in the morning and our lives would be as they should be—a family of five.

We were a family of five again, but we were broken, and my heart bled for my father and the life he dreamed would be decent and blissful and full of wonders.  He’d married for the fourth time.  Not many men found true love more than once, but my father had, and we all should’ve grown and become better men but for one night of horror that shattered all our lives.  Finding the jacket and not the boy had ruined everything that was clean and pure.

I had to give Maria credit, though.  She’d done her best to soothe the ache in Pa’s heart.  It was little things really.  The way she touched his hand or gave him a sideways glance accompanied by an endearing smile that seemed to break the ice and bring him back to the living.

Joe was quiet during supper, and I didn’t want to leave him alone while I washed dishes down at the creek.  Instead, I stacked one on top of the other; I’d clean up tomorrow.  “I’m for bed.  You?”

Normally, Joe did everything I asked, but he didn’t move from the table.  He dropped his hands between his legs and when he looked toward the cot near the back wall of the cabin, his demeanor changed completely.  “No,” he said.

I was surprised by his answer, but if I’d been chained to similar cots, maybe I’d feel the same way.  “You’re not tired?”

Joe closed his eyes and his legs began bouncing with nervous energy.  “Get away.”

Another piece of the puzzle or was he telling me to leave?  “I can’t leave you, Joe.”

He shook his head.  “G-got away.”

And then it hit me.  “You got away?  You escaped?  Is that what you’re telling me?”

His head bobbed up and down.

“Were you being held in a place like this?”

The low moan was back.  “H-here.”

“You were held here?”  He wasn’t making sense.  We’d checked every line shack; in fact, this was the first one we came to and there was no sign of Joe.  “But Joe,” I said.  “This was the first place we looked.”

He shook his head.  I’m sure my constant badgering frustrated him, and when he began pounding his legs with fisted hands, I did my best to calm him.  “Okay.  Slow down, buddy.  It’s my fault; I misunderstood.”  I tried to think things through.  “You weren’t held here the whole time, were you?”

The shaking stopped, but Joe gulped in so much air, I thought he might pass out.

“So the lady took you somewhere else first then brought you back here—to the Ponderosa.”

The low moan made me think I was right.  I squatted down on one knee in front of him.  “Did she have a name, Joe?  Do you know the woman’s name?”

I sounded like a damn Pinkerton, but all I wanted was a justifiable reason why Joe didn’t want to sleep on the bed.  “Joe?”  I waited for him to look at me.  When he did, I pointed to the cot by the wall.  “Were you handcuffed to that bed?”

The answer came when Joe, perhaps subconsciously, rubbed at the fresher cuts on his wrists.

“But you escaped anyway.  You squeezed your hands through the cuffs?”

“Lucy.”

“Lucy?”  Finally, we had a name, but who the hell was Lucy.  I’d never heard the name before but it seemed to me now that Joe had spent more of his young life with her than he had with us.  And, I’m not sure how dense the woman was, but she obviously hadn’t realized how thin Joe had become, and he was able to twist his hands through the metal cuffs.  “You’re a pretty smart kid, Joe.”

My brother looked up and for the first time since his return, he smiled.  I repaid the gesture with a smile of my own.  “You’ll never have to see Lucy again.  Understand?  You’re with me now.”  But the smile faded and his legs started up again.  The nervous bounce was back, and I took a chance.  I rested my hand on his knee, and the legs settled down.

“There’s a whole lot more to the story, isn’t there?  Can you keep going?  Are you too tired to talk?”

We never made it to bed that night.  Joe was too young to share a bottle of whiskey so I made pots of coffee instead, and I listened to every detail he was willing to offer.  Joe was getting his voice back.  His sentences may not have been complete although he was starting to connect words together.

He and “Aunt Lucy” had ridden partway to the cabin on the back of a hay wagon.  The driver said he wasn’t crossing Ben Cartwright’s land for a couple of no-good drifters.  Joe remembered his name—Cartwright—and realized he must be close to home, though, at the time, he didn’t know why they’d come back to the Ponderosa.

Two days after they arrived, he heard muffled voices outside the cabin, and from what I could make out; Joe thought his life was in danger.  Lucy was tired of the arrangement and wanted more money or she was through.

After hearing what he thought was a gunshot, he knew he had to escape.  He freed himself from the manacles and hid in the brush maybe twenty yards from the cabin until dark.  When he felt safe, he followed the road that ran along Buckhorn Creek.  The story came in bits and pieces I had to sort out, but I learned much more than I ever wanted to know.  The truth was difficult to hear.

“Do you know who was paying Lucy?”

Joe shook his head as though I was the one who didn’t understand.  “Carmen.”

“Carmen paid Lucy?”  He shook his head again but as he did, an eerie feeling came over me, and like a caged animal; I began pacing the small cabin and then stopped in front of Joe.  I’d heard the name before; I’d heard it mentioned years ago, but could I be mistaken?  “Are you saying Lucy’s real name was Carmen?”

Joe looked up and nodded.

“And Carmen demanded more money?”  God Almighty, I prayed I was wrong.

I listened well into the night.  It was so good to hear Joe’s voice, which cracked on occasion and embarrassed him, but I hid the smile on my face.  He asked several questions.  The first, “How long have I been gone?”  I wondered if he was calculating the missing years, and I hurried to answer.  “You’re fourteen years old, Joe.”  Maybe I should’ve remained silent.  I dropped my eyes when a tear rolled down Joe’s cheek.  Realizing how many years had been wasted silenced us both.

We packed our saddlebags at dawn and rode out.  Much more had been said and telling the family would be difficult.  Joe had been told repeatedly that Pa was disappointed in him, that he wanted him out of the house because angry little boys were a source of distraction, an unnecessary burden for his father’s new bride.  Joe was frightened, and he believed every word that Carmen, aka “Aunt Lucy,” had driven into him.

I could imagine the look in my father’s eyes when I had to tell him the truth.  Tears of anger and tears of shame would only be the beginning of the heartbreak he’d have to resolve before he could heal.  At least I knew why Joe had been so hesitant around Pa, but we’d start life anew.  I’d explained that everything Carmen said was a lie and that our father—under no circumstance—would’ve ever sent his baby son away.  I reinforced Pa’s love for him more than a few times on the ride home.

                                                             *

Hoss

I didn’t expect to see my brothers ride in so soon.  They’d only left yesterday, and Adam said he might be gone as long as a week or more.  “Pa—hey Pa,” I hollered.  “They’re back.”

Pa rushed to the front door.  He seemed surprised too, and the two of us walked out to welcome them home.  “Didn’t expect you so soon,” Pa said.  “But I’m glad you’re back.”

Adam smiled but it was a sad smile.  They both looked bedraggled.  They hadn’t ridden that far; the line shack was only a few miles away, but somethin’ was up.  I could feel it in my bones.  “Why don’t I put your horses up?  You two look beat.”

“Thanks, brother.  You guessed right for a change.”

I didn’t comment on Adam’s snarky remark, but when he reached for Joe’s hand, Joe shrugged him off and moved in front of our pa.  He extended his hand, and I nearly dropped the reins of both brothers’ mounts.  Something was up all right, and I stood and stared at the unfamiliar sight.

“It’s good to be home, Pa.”

Pa stood stock-still.  The shock of Joe addressing him in such a manner had caught him off guard.  “It’s good to have you home, son.”  His voice was shaky, and his eyes turned glassy and bright.  He reached for Joe’s hand and pulled the boy to his chest.  “I’ve missed you, Joseph.”

“Missed you too, Pa.”

I looked to Adam for answers, but I guess it weren’t the right time or place.  Curiously, though, Adam weren’t smilin’.  “I’ll help you with the horses,” he said.

We walked to the barn together, but I took one more look over my shoulder and saw that Pa and Joe were nearing the house, each with an arm wrapped around the other’s waist.  It was a pretty sight to see.

“You sure worked some kind of magic, big brother.”

“Not me, Hoss.”  Adam loosened Sport’s cinch.  “Joe was ready to talk.”

I tended the horse Adam had picked out for Joe.  Our brother was taller now, and his little pony had been put out to pasture years ago.  “How’d you get him to open up?  I don’t know what you call it, but I call it magic.”

“It’s a long story, Hoss.”  Adam lifted the saddle and hefted it over the half-wall.  “It’s not a pretty story.”

“Huh?”

“You done?”

“Yeah.”

“Steady yourself, Hoss.  You’re not going to like what you hear.”

Me and Adam walked back to the house together.  I’d planned to make a trip for supplies, but I had an eerie feeling things was gonna get worse ‘fore they got better.  Besides, if there was an explanation to be had, I wasn’t about to miss out over a wagonload of flour and sugar.

I didn’t see Joe and Pa right off, not till they came walking out of the kitchen.  “Hop Sing’s fixing you and Joe something to eat,” Pa said to Adam.  “You two must be starving.”

Joe’s eyes dipped toward our brother.  His eyes were kinda fearful like, and I thought about what Adam had said.  “You’re not going to like what you hear.”  On most days, I could’ve eaten breakfast twice, but this time, I didn’t have no appetite for seconds.  

When Maria started down the stairs—never an early riser—Pa nearly ran across the room and reached for her hand.  “Come see who’s here, sweetheart.”

Unexpectedly, Joe pushed past me and ran into the kitchen.  A second later, Adam did the same.  “What the heck?”  I mumbled under my breath.  I didn’t know whether to follow or console our pa.  He looked confused and he had a darn good right to be.

“Maybe Joe had to use the outhouse,” I said.  The kitchen door slammed.  “Maybe he ate something he shouldn’t’ve.”  

“I don’t understand.  Just a minute ago …”

“Don’t you worry none, Pa.”  This was the strangest darn thing I’d ever seen.  A joyous reunion, and then Joe makes a beeline for the back door.  “I’ll find ‘em.”  

I clomped out the kitchen door and studied the landscape.  No one in sight.  I headed to the barn first, and I heard ‘em before I saw ‘em.  My brothers was both in the loft.  I put my foot on the first rung of the ladder, but I stopped there.  Was I welcome?

“Hey, you two.  Mind if I come up?”

“Come on up, Hoss.”

I climbed the ladder and peeked over the bottom edge of the loft.  Adam had used the back wall for support, his right arm held Joe tight to his chest.  The boy’s sobs were soft and he was mumbling words I couldn’t quite hear.  I moved closer to my brothers and sat down in front of them.

Adam took a deep breath.  “Maria isn’t who she appears to be, Hoss.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I’m still trying to take it all in,” Adam said.  “If what Joe says is true, and I believe it is, Maria Santos Jenkins Cartwright planned Joe’s disappearance.  She paid her sister, Carmen, to do the dirty work.”

I held my breath.  Them words struck me like a lightning bolt, and I felt lightheaded.  I ran a hand through my hair, and I took a big deep breath.  “No, it can’t be true.”

Adam’s hand moved up and down Joe’s back and our brother seemed to quiet some.  He’d been a lively but sensitive little boy, and the tears that tracked down his face showed me that some of that little boy was left inside him.  Them silent tears bothered me more’n hearin’ them awful words about Maria.

“Hello?  Adam?  Hoss?  Little Joe?”  Pa had found us.

Adam tightened his grip on Joe and whispered.  “Can Pa come up?”  Joe shook his head against my brother’s chest.

“I’ll go down,” I said.  I stood to my feet.  “Comin’, Pa.”

“Watch what you say, Hoss.”

“Don’t know if I can, Adam.”  I climbed down the ladder.  

“What’s this all about, son?”  

I was ready to repeat Adam’s words straight out until I looked over Pa’s shoulder.  Standing just inside the barn doors, was Maria.  She could overhear everything I said so I heeded my brother’s advice.  I was careful.  “Joe told Adam everything, Pa.”

Pa’s anxious shoulders dropped.  “Thank God.”

I glanced at Maria again.  She hadn’t moved, but Pa didn’t know she was there, no one did ‘cept me.  Just like Maria, my hands were at my sides, but hers were hidden within the folds of her skirt.  I wasn’t armed.  Was she?  I let crazy thoughts run through my head.

“Maria,” I said.

Pa turned his head sharply, but it was Adam and Joe I wanted to warn.  Pa extended his hand toward his wife.  “Joseph is talking now.  He can tell us everything that happened to him, and we can finally get our lives back on track.”

Maria stepped forward, only one small step, but my thoughts hadn’t been crazy at all.  She leveled a small derringer at my father’s chest.  “I can’t let that happen, darling.”

“What?”  Pa chuckled hesitantly.  “What’s this all about?”

“Your son drowned in that creek eight years ago.”

“Sweetheart,” Pa said.  Being the only one who didn’t know the truth, he was obviously stunned by her remark.  “Joseph is alive and well.  You’ve seen him with your own eyes.”

She took another step forward.  “He was never supposed to come home.”

Pa moved toward his wife.  “Why the gun, Maria?  What’s going on?”

“You paid her well to take care of her charge.”

“Paid who?  Wait,” Pa said.  “You said, ‘her charge’.”  Pa raised his hands as if surrendering to his wife’s admission that she’d been involved in his son’s disappearance.  “Are you saying” —Pa pressed his fingertips hard against his temples— “are you telling me the funds I gave you for your destitute friend was money spent to keep my son away from me all these years?”

“I always said you were a smart man, Ben Cartwright.”

“Then it’s true?”

“Carmen has played gatekeeper for eight long years, but she was tired of traipsing around the country with an extra hundred pounds of baggage.”

“You’re sister had Joseph all this time?”

“That’s enough talk, Ben.”

Pa’s throaty laugh surprised me, surprised Maria too.

“Enough talk?”  Pa began pacing, but the little derringer followed his every move.  “What kind of woman are you?  You stole my son!”

“It’s time for me to leave, Ben.”  Her voice was like the calm before a storm.  “My bag is packed, but I’ll need Hoss to saddle my horse.”

“Where’s Carmen, Maria?”  I said.  “You do away with her too?”

Maria’s lips turned up slightly, and I was convinced she hadn’t left a witness, but something snapped inside Pa and a loud throaty growl caught Maria off guard, and he lunged toward his wife and the gun she held in her hand.  A shot rang out.

I screamed my father’s name— “Pa!” —and raced forward, but our pa wasn’t shot.  Adam stood at the edge of the loft, a smoking gun in his hand.  Maria dropped to the ground.  Pa knelt down on one knee and lifted her head just off the barn floor.  “I loved you.  I trusted you.  I brought you into my home to be part of our family.  Why?  Why, Maria?”

Adam was a good shot.  He’d won contests at the annual fair, and he could’ve winged our father’s wife had he wanted.  There would’ve been a trial, and Little Joe would be forced to testify, but I don’t think Adam was willing to put our young brother through any more days of hell.  Maria didn’t answer our father.  Her head lolled to the side; her body fell limp in his arms.  Maria Santos Jenkins Cartwright was dead.

                                                             *

Joe

I wasn’t afraid to stay home with Pa anymore, and my brothers made themselves scarce for the next couple of days.  Pa and I needed time alone.  We needed to heal and to deal with the effects of the last eight years.

My father’s wife, the woman I could never call Mama, was killed and then buried the same day.  Pa told me not to worry about Adam.  If Porter Rockwell—aka Old Port—a well-known lawman who serviced the Utah Territory, had questions about her death, Pa would tell him the honest truth.

“We searched for weeks,” Pa said, but that was a given.  I knew they would, and I knew they’d never find me.  I’d been whisked away in a covered wagon the same night I was pushed in and hauled back out of the creek.  Though I didn’t figure it out for a long time, leaving the jacket was proof of my death.

“You never stood a chance of finding me,” I said.  “I drowned in Buckhorn Creek.  Their plan went off without a hitch.”

In the beginning, I was kept in a barn, a converted stall became my home, but I couldn’t tell Pa everything.  He didn’t have to know about the chains or the days I went without food or water.  He’d been hurt enough already.  We moved all the time.  We never stayed in one place long enough for people to suspect we were anything but a loving aunt and her dead sister’s son.  

If we were in public, I’d been instructed to call my captor Aunt Lucy.  We either walked from point A to point B or rode in the back of farmer’s wagons.  Oftentimes, I was given something that knocked me out during our travels.  I’d wake up confused but alive.  And then we came back to the line shack.

The telling was hard on Pa.  He wanted to know everything, but I had to find a way around that.  He blamed himself.  I realized why, but I wanted him to understand that I didn’t blame him; at least, not anymore.  The simple fact was that I was too much of a bother for his new wife.  She didn’t want to deal with a six-year-old kid.  Maria didn’t marry Ben Cartwright to become a mother.  She loved being Pa’s wife; she loved glitz and glamor—if one could call it that—of her new life with an honorable, prominent man.

“None of this is your fault, you know.”

“Oh, Joseph.  Everything that happened to you was my fault.”

“You didn’t know.  Maybe I should’ve told you everything eight years ago.”

“What, son?  What wasn’t I told?”

“I was a little kid, but I knew how much she hated me.  I told Hoss, but he thought I was acting silly.  I know I should’ve told you, but I was afraid.  You loved her, Pa.  I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“How did I miss the signs?  How was I so blind?”  

I took a deep breath.  I’d never told Hoss half of what Maria said or did to me, and what good would it do to tell Pa now?  “I’d rather not talk about it.  It’s over now.  It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me, son.”

I’d never tell him the worst.  He’d never know I was beaten if I talked or cried or how I had to watch Aunt Lucy eat in front of me when I had nothing at all.  He wouldn’t know that I was made to wear shoes that were too small or that I was left naked inside a cage when I’d outgrown my clothes.  Instead, I told him things that happened when I still lived at home.

“It was little things, Pa.  She told me I was an evil little boy, and she’d pinch me where a bruise wouldn’t show, the back of my arm or the skin under my shirt collar.  She’d grip my arms and shake me.  Sometimes, she’d swat my backside, little things that don’t matter anymore.  She knew how much you loved us but in her eyes, I was nothing more than an inconvenience.  Adam was leaving for college, and Hoss was needed to work the ranch.  I wasn’t big enough to be useful, but I’ve let that all go.  Don’t you understand, Pa?  You have to do the same.”

A gentle smile crossed Pa’s lips.  “You’re wise beyond your years, Joseph.”

“I may not be wise, but I know what’s important:  me and you and Hoss and Adam.”  I reached for my father’s hands.  “Nothing else matters, Pa.  I’m home now, and we can start over.”

“You’re quite a boy, Joseph.  No, I take that back.  You’re quite a man.  I’ll stop apologizing if that’s what you want, but I’ll never let anyone and anything come between us again.”

When I smiled, Pa pulled me to his chest.  A hint of bay rum mixed with pipe tobacco assured me he was willing to help me through life’s troubles.  For years, lies had been driven into me until I believed they were God’s truth, but now I knew better.  I had a father who wasn’t disappointed in me after all, and who loved me more than the evil he brought into our house.

“I think we’re good now, Pa.

“I think we are too, Joseph.”

The End

2017

by jfclover

Chapter 1:  Joe

I smiled at my opponent and fanned my cards on the table.  “Full House.” 

When I sat taller in my chair and reached for my winnings, the look on Johnny’s face gave me pause.  Johnny Oldman, foreman of the Circle C sat across from me.  I wouldn’t say we were enemies, but we were far from friends.  His snarly grin was aimed only at me when he pulled four tens from his hand and laid the cards on the table.  In a million years, I didn’t expect him to beat my full house.  He raked the pile of cash that should’ve been mine toward him and stood from the table. 

 

   

“Maybe next time, Kid.

If he cheated me, I couldn’t prove my claim to the sheriff.  He hadn’t won a hand all night and then POW!  He pulls out four tens and beats the pants off me.  I couldn’t go home.  I couldn’t tell Pa that most of my bet was money he trusted me to put in the bank.  

I only stopped for one beer.  It never occurred to me to sit down and play poker, especially with the likes of Johnny Oldman, but Seth motioned me over.  “Join us, Little Joe.  I’m already up ten dollars.”  

Since I planned to take Jenny Hawkins to the dance Saturday night, I could use an extra ten-spot myself, maybe a fancy dinner before the dance or a nice bouquet of flowers.  “Sure.  For just a minute.”

Five of us circled the table when Johnny dealt the first hand.  Before I knew it, two men had left, and Seth was saying goodnight.  I felt lucky and wanted to play one more hand, but that’s when everything went wrong.  That’s when my world came crashing down.

I couldn’t go home.  I couldn’t face my father.  Two thousand dollars lost, gone forever to a no-good cheating ranch hand.  I had two dollars to my name.  If Tom could find it in his heart to let a room at the International go cheap, I’d have time to think what to tell Pa.  The truth wouldn’t do this time.  I had to come up with something better.

Tom was a gracious man.  I asked for the smallest room, and he let it go for two dollars, everything I had.  There’d be no supper, and I’d owe Lenny for Cooch’s room and board.  He’d understand though.  He was a year younger than me and had been in a few scraps himself.

A loud knock woke me the following morning.  It had to be Tom.  No one else knew I’d stayed in town but him and Lenny.  After scratching my head in confusion, I grabbed my trousers and headed for the door.  “Sheriff?  What are you doing here?”

“Came to arrest you, Little Joe.”

I blinked my eyes.  Was I dreaming?  “Say that again, Roy?”

“Get your boots on.  I gotta take you to jail.”

I scratched my head again.  “Why?  What’s this all about?”

Roy looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.  “I think you know, Son.  I sent someone out for your Pa.  I’m sure he’ll be here shortly.”  

It felt like a dream, but it wasn’t.  I pulled on my boots and slipped on my shirt and jacket.  Roy took my gunbelt.  He wasn’t taking any chances.  I followed him out the door and down to the jail and into a cell.

I grabbed the bars as Roy walked away.  “I still don’t know why I’m here, Sheriff.”

Shaking his head, he closed the door behind him and shut my world out.  He wouldn’t give me the time of day, so I sat on the cot and stared at the wall that was barely six feet away.  When I tried to imagine a world without grass and trees and sky, I dropped my head in my hands and realized how much trouble I was in and that there was nothing I could do to save my skin from Roy and his assumption.  But what was he assuming?  I didn’t do a damn thing except to lose Pa’s money, and I’m the only one who knew what a fool I’d been.

My mind had a curious way of deceiving me.  I sensed something odd, something wrong, even terror, yet somewhere in my brain wanted to believe the worst could never happen.  So why had I been jailed?  What evil crime did I commit?

I waited for Pa.  I’d confess my sins and be released.  As far as I could tell, that was the end of the story.  Roy would have to let me go.  I’d work extra chores.  I’d get a side job breaking horses.  Whatever it took to pay my father the two thousand dollars, I was ready to get the job done.  I wasn’t afraid of hard work.

““`

When I heard voices in the outer office, I realized Pa had arrived and this mess would be cleaned up in no time.  I stood and grabbed the bars with both hands.  I could almost taste Hop Sing’s cooking.  I hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday and I was starving.  If our cook knew where I spent the night, he’d make all my favorite dishes—fried chicken, hot biscuits, and gingerbread.  He’d try to wash away a bad memory with delicious food.  I liked his style.

The door to the cells opened and Pa and Hoss charged in.  Roy followed.  I wondered where Adam was then remembered he’d left two days ago for San Francisco.  He planned to have a timber contract signed.  Pa had made a great deal with the San Francisco/San Jose railroad.  Railroad ties were a booming business, and we had enough trees to provide the one hundred miles of track they’d requested.

“I’m glad you’re here, Pa.  Roy seems to think I—”

“Stop, Joseph.”

Hearing Pa’s voice was enough to know I was in real trouble.  But what?  What the hell had I done that would cause such an uproar?  “I don’t understand.”

“What is it you don’t understand?”

“Why am I here?  I got in a stupid poker game, and I’m sorry I lost the money, but you act like I did something—” 

“Poker?  So that’s it.  You lost the money I asked you to put in the bank.  Is that right, Joseph?”

“Yes, Sir, but I’ll pay it back.”

“Do you have any idea how long your prison term might be?”

“Prison.  What do you mean prison?”

“Mort Wilson identified you, Joe.”

“The banker?  Identified me?  What does that mean?  I never made it to the bank.”

“That’s not what he said.”

I dropped my hands and walked away from the bars.  I might be dense, but will someone tell me why I’m here?”

“Does Bank Robbery ring a bell?”

I started to laugh.  “You’re joking, right?  I never robbed Wilson’s bank.”

“He has a different story.”

“Pa, I swear.  I never stepped foot in that bank.”

Pa glared at Roy, and the sheriff shrugged his shoulders.  “It’s Mr. Wilson’s word against Little Joe’s.  I suggest you get a good lawyer, Ben.  This case is goin’ to trial.”

Pa’s head dropped in defeat.  The odds were against me.  Mort Wilson was a good man.  No one would believe he’d lie.  And then there was motive.  I’d lost my father’s money in a poker game.  I had to have two thousand dollars before I rode home.  No one knew my whereabouts except Tom, the hotel manager.  He could say what time I checked in, but he’d be lying if he said for sure I didn’t leave his establishment.  He was the only witness that could give me half an alibi.  

“I’ll go see Hiram, Son.  If he’ll take the case, we’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Do you believe me?”

“I’m trying, Son.”

“You know Joe as well as I do, Pa.  Joe ain’t a liar.”

“Thanks, Hoss, but will you do me a favor?”

“Sure, Little Brother.”

“Tell Jenny the dance is off.”

Hoss clapped my shoulder.  “I’ll do that right now.”

““`

The trial was set for Monday, the 14^th.   The circuit judge knew Pa, but that didn’t guarantee victory in the courtroom.  All I could do was tell my story and hope the judge believed me.  Pa and Mr. Woods thought it would be better if I didn’t have a jury trial.  Judge Mahoney was a fair man.  He’d listen to both sides and do the right thing.

Pa and Hoss stayed at the International House the night before the trial.  Pa brought clean clothes and a shaving kit to the jail early that morning.  I had to look like an innocent young man, clean and fresh.  

“You look as purty as a spring day.”  (Hoss’s words.)  

I did my best to look like that spring day before Roy clamped cuffs on my wrists and escorted me to the courthouse.  Pa and Hoss followed closely behind, but I was scared.  It helped to have my family by my side, but until the judge set me free, my breathing stayed short and fast.  Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my legs barely made the trip down C Street.

When we entered the courthouse, I looked for Mr. Wilson, the man who accused me of the horrible crime.  He sat at a front table with his eyes set forward.  The last person he wanted to see was me.  He wouldn’t look me in the eye.  He wouldn’t look Pa in the eye.  Since the day Mort Wilson stepped foot in Virginia City, Pa had welcomed him to our fair city.  Surely, he hadn’t forgotten that.  Surely, he’d come to his senses and tell the judge it was all a terrible mistake.  

““`

How could anything go so wrong?  Judge Mahoney’s verdict took my breath away.

“Joseph Cartwright.  I find you guilty of robbing the Citizen’s Bank of exactly ten thousand dollars.  I sentence you to one-year hard labor for every thousand you stole.  You will begin your sentence at the Nevada State Prison on Monday, the 21^st of this month.”

Mr. Woods pulled me to my feet.  My legs barely supported me, but I could feel his grip, and I did as he expected.  I pressed my fingertips to the table to steady myself.  Pa’s hand rested on my shoulder, but I couldn’t turn around.  I couldn’t look at Pa or Hoss.  I’d been convicted of a crime I didn’t commit, but what did they believe?  Did they think I was guilty of bank robbery?

Roy eased the cuffs into place and led me from the courthouse back to his jail.  I didn’t want company, but they followed Roy like puppy dogs begging for a treat.

“This isn’t the end, Son.  We’ll appeal the verdict.”

I faced the far wall, but I heard every word.  “Don’t bother.”

“Don’t bother?  Look at me, Joseph.”

I turned and faced the bars and saw a world that was no longer mine.  “It’s no use, Pa.  The judge sentenced me.  Keep the home fires burning.  I’ll be home in ten years.”

“That talk doesn’t sit well with me, and you know it.  If you don’t keep a positive attitude, we don’t stand a chance.”

“No matter what you do or how much money you spend, I still don’t stand a chance.  Forget it, Pa.  Just forget it!  Go home and pretend I never existed.”

“That ain’t funny, Little Joe.  Show Pa some respect and quit talking like a little kid.  He’s only trying to help.”

I grabbed the bars.  “Don’t start, Hoss.  Forget about me.  I’m a bank robber, remember?  Surely you and Adam can get along without a rotten kid like me.”

“Aw, Joseph.”

“Take Pa and go home.  I don’t want you here.  I don’t need you.”

Pa took hold of Hoss’ arm and guided him away from the cells.  When my father shut the door behind him, I was finally alone.  I didn’t have to talk about the day’s events.  I didn’t have to think about anything but my first day in prison and all the new friends I’d make.  

God, help me.  I wasn’t a robber.  How could they get it so wrong?

““`

Monday morning came quickly.   Thunder rumbled over the city, but rain never fell.  Something about the turbulent skies and gusts of wind shooting dust down C Street affected my mood.  Pa and Hoss waited with me.  None of us had much to say.  It wasn’t a time for casual chitchat.  Everyone’s nerves were on edge.

Although Pa telegraphed Adam in San Francisco, he couldn’t return to Virginia City before I had to leave.  I’m sure he was upset, but nothing could be done.  The judge wouldn’t change the date he’d decided on for my ten-year sentence.

Hoss had trouble sitting still.  Every street sound had him standing and looking out the window.  Freight wagons passed.  Single riders made their way into town.  He stood and watched them all.  He was the first to spot the prison wagon.  Grabbing the bars of the open-air window in my cell, he dropped his chin to his chest.  I realized what he’d seen.  It was time to say goodbye.

I wasn’t a little kid.  I wasn’t going to cry, but when Pa pulled me to his chest and enveloped me with his strength, tears burned my eyes.  Ten years was a long time.  I’d be a middle-aged man when I walked out of prison, the playful days of youth forever gone.

I had no words for my family.  Roy held out the cuffs. I raised my hands, listened for the click when they closed, and then something odd happened.  Sounds magnified.  Footsteps crossing Roy’s office for the last time.  The front door swinging wide and four of us marching through to the boardwalk where the windowless wagon sat waiting for its prisoner.  The horses snorted dust from their nostrils, and a Bucket of Blood piano played a regaling tune.

The driver jumped down from his seat and stood with his hands clasped behind his back.  Roy guided me to stand in front of him.  My stomach lurched with anticipation, but I didn’t dare lose my breakfast in the middle of C Street.  That would be a helluva way to begin my sentence.

“Jonah Calhoun,” said the driver when he jumped down from his perch.

I suppose the routine was the same for every prisoner of the state, but I was new at this and played along the best I could.  

“Spread ‘em, Son.”  I wasn’t sure what he wanted, and I stood like a dummy who didn’t have a lick of sense.  That’s when he moved behind me and kicked my right ankle, spreading my legs wide.  “Hands against the wagon.”  

I leaned toward the wagon and pressed my palms against the hot metal.  The driver patted me down, starting with my arms and shoulders and working his way to my torso and between my legs.  I’d never been touched by a man like that and standing in front of the family made my nightmare even worse.

“Joseph?”

Even though Pa and Hoss stood right behind me, my father’s voice sounded far away.  I needed his strength, but I couldn’t turn around.  I was no longer part of his world.  The judge had sealed my fate, and I belonged to the state of Nevada.  He believed Mort Wilson over me.  He believed I’d go as far as robbing a bank rather than confess my sins to my father.  How wrong could a highly intelligent man be?

My sentence began with the prison wagon.  Like a turbulent sky before a storm, everything about the wagon was harsh.  The lack of color.  The stairs, the seats, and the bars were a dull iron gray.  A different world than any free man could imagine.

I climbed the two metal stairs and ducked through the small opening at the rear.  I wondered how Hoss would have fit through the doorway.  Two ragtag men sat across from each other on benches that lined the walls.  They stared at me as though I wasn’t their kind, and they were right.  I wasn’t their kind and would never associate with men who were common criminals.  They’d probably done time before.  They probably knew the ropes and knew how to handle themselves.  I was as green as they came.  I knew nothing of their world.

The wagon jolted forward and when my right shoulder crashed into the rear wall, both men chuckled at my expense.  I paid them no mind.  No sense wasting energy on a couple of no-goods.  I didn’t know if we were heading straight to the prison or if Calhoun had more desperate criminals to pick up on the way.  

I tried to close my eyes and forget about everything, but the wheel’s iron rims grated over every rock and small pebble on the road.  The wagon was unforgiving.  We’d all be bruised and exhausted by the time we reached our destination.

Carson City was less than five miles away.  There’d be no more stops.  I’d ridden this route so many times with Pa and my brothers, I knew every rock and tree that lined the road.  

The prison was east of town.  Pa and Adam had both sat on juries that sent men from Storey County to be housed inside the new prison.  Bet they never thought the same thing would happen to one of their own, but when the iron gates swung open and Calhoun drove the wagon inside, fear drifted through me like a snake slithering through dry desert grass.  Fear also showed on the faces of the two men accompanying me.  Their casual repartee stopped as soon as we drew near the impressive stone buildings.

The key turned in the lock and the wagon door rocked open.  I was the first one to climb out and breathe fresh air.  The other two followed, and I wondered what came next.  Lunchtime had come and gone, and I doubt anyone would rush to feed men like us.  We were the scum of the earth and feeding scum wouldn’t be anyone’s priority.

We were lined up single file and led inside one of the smaller buildings.  I took in my surrounding like a kid in a candy store.  Everything was new and different.  Everything was stone and high desert dust until we stood inside the windowless room.  No lanterns burned and no furniture lined the walls.  The room was barren of everything except the three of us.

“Strip down, Boys.  Make it snappy.”

I looked toward my wagon mates, and they looked back at me.  When the taller one took off his boots and set them aside, we did the same.  Shirts and jackets came next then socks and trousers.  We all stood in our bare feet and our long johns.

“Keep goin’, Boys.  Get a move on.”

None of us were eager to stand in front of Calhoun stark naked, but when the man produced a small leather crop from behind his back, we removed the rest of our clothing.

“See them marks on the ground?”  We all looked down.  “Stand on the mark.”

I wasn’t thrilled about being paraded in front of anyone without my clothes on, but I didn’t like the look of Calhoun’s whip either.

“Leland?  You there?”  From the shadows, a tall, thin man stepped forward.  “Get it done.”

After loosening the rope from a hook on the side wall, three buckets of ice-cold water flushed over the three of us.  Even though it was hot outside, the little room was cold and dark, and the freezing water didn’t help.  We were each handed a bar of lye soap.  “Get busy.”

While Leland loaded three more buckets and hoisted them up using his fancy contraption, we washed the best we could, dropped the bars into a small metal bucket, and were drenched again. 

“Let’s go, Boys.  Single file.”

Still dripping, we were marched outside and taken through an alleyway to the other side of the prison.  A wooden flagpole and a large metal box stood in the center of a fenced-in courtyard.   Picture outhouses on stilts, and you can envision where guards stood with rifles pointed in our direction.

A man close to Pa’s age wearing a fancy dress suit and flanked by two flunkies marched toward the three of us and stood next to Calhoun.  “You’re excused,” he said.  Calhoun turned and walked toward the front of the prison.  His job was finished.  I’d probably never see him again.

“Name’s Curry.  Abram Curry and I’m the warden.”  

The man clasped his hands behind his back and began to march back and forth.  I wondered if he’d been an army man in his early years.  It seemed that way, especially when he began speaking.

“You will obey orders.  You will not argue with the men assigned to keep you in line.  You will not speak unless spoken to.  You will eat when you’re told to eat.  You will work when you’re told to work.  You will sleep when you’re told to sleep.  Breaking those rules will lead to a punishment that fits the crime.  Do you understand?”

The three of us mumbled, “Yeah.”

“Yes, Sir,” he commanded.

“Yes, Sir,” we answered.

“Louder.”

“Yes, Sir!”

I felt like a naked newborn with no thoughts or feelings of my own.  My life had been turned over to the warden and his henchmen.  We left our manhood at the front gate.  We were nothing but animals now.  Hell, we didn’t even have clothes.  We’d be fed, watered, and put to work.  That was the life of a convict.

When the warden was finished spelling out the rules, we were instructed to follow one of his flunkies.  His sidekick followed behind.  Both carried leather crops sometimes called a cat o’ nine tails.  For short, the cat.  I never wanted to feel that against my back.  What I wanted most was a pair of trousers.  Marching around in my all-together wasn’t my idea of fun and games.  Maybe prison clothes were next on the agenda.  Maybe I’d remain naked for the next ten years.  Hell, I didn’t know a damn thing.

A dream come true.  After crossing the courtyard, we were thrust inside another stone building.  The three of us were allowed to pick up a set of clothing, a wool blanket, and a pillow.  We walked in single file down the corridor of the largest building in the compound to our new homes, 6’ x 9’ cells, two men in each.  A hand on my shoulder stopped me cold.  Naked equals helpless and exposed, and the man’s hand sent shivers clear to my toes.

“You.  Cartwright.  Inside.”

I didn’t hesitate to move away from the man who felt free to touch me, and I couldn’t swat his hand off my shoulder.  The man who carried the “cat” was in charge.  I wasn’t a dummy.  It wasn’t hard to realize I had no rights and no say in the matter.  I moved into my new home.  Later, I would meet my cellmate, a man twice my age and twice my size.  My days of a peaceful existence were over.

Chapter 2:  Adam

When Pa’s telegram arrived, I worked overtime to finish my work in San Francisco, but it still took days to complete.  Joe was no more capable of bank robbery than he was when he and Hoss got carried away and tried to fix a wrong.  Being miles from home didn’t help.  Nothing could be worse than not being where I was needed.  Whether I could fix the problem was another story, but for Joe’s sake, I had to try.

With a carpetbag in hand, I boarded the stage heading east to Carson City.  Before I talked to anyone else, I wanted to hear Joe’s side.  There must be something he either forgot or didn’t think was necessary to mention to the judge.  I had to find out what that something might be.

Pa and Hoss would be too emotionally involved to give me straight answers.  I’m sure they’d been by Joe’s side since Roy threw him in jail that first day.  I’ve known Judge Mahoney for years, and I always thought he was a fair man so what happened this time?  I’d find out soon enough.  My brother had been imprisoned for nearly a week.  It was time he was granted a visitor.

After the stage pulled into Carson, the depot manager was willing to hold my bag until I returned later in the day.  Though I should’ve taken time for a shower and a shave, I didn’t bother.  Instead, I walked down to the livery and rented a horse so I could ride out to the prison while it was still daylight.  I needed to see my young brother.

Lanterns lit the entrance, and I was forced to stop at the iron gates and explain why I wanted inside.  “I want to see Joe Cartwright.”

“You his attorney?  Them’s the only ones allowed inside.”

“Of course, I’m his attorney.  Why else would I bother?’’  I prayed the lie would open the gate.

“Name?”

“Addison Carter.”

“Sign here.”

The gate swung open, and I walked my rented mount to the front entrance where I was met by another guard.  “Addison Carter, attorney at law.  I’m here to see Joseph Cartwright.”

“One minute, Sir.”

When he returned, he handed me a signed paper.  “First door on your left.  I’ll stable your horse.”

“Thank you.”

Above the door on the left were the words Abram Curry, Warden.  I stepped inside and had to contend with his secretary.  “Addison Carter.”  I handed him the paper.

“This way.”

The warden sat behind a large mahogany desk; a thick cigar clenched between his teeth filled the room with a thick, blue haze.  A picture of his wife and children decorated the righthand corner of his desk, and a stack of papers sat to the left.  I stood in front of the man.  “I’d like to see my client, Joseph Cartwright, Sir.  It’s a matter of utmost importance.”

“Rudy?”

The secretary came quickly.  “Yes, Sir.”

“Take Mr. Carter to the conference room.  I’ll send Carl for Cartwright.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Thank you, Sir.  I’ll note your generosity when I return to Virginia City.  With so much violence in the west, the Territorial Enterprise is always grateful to receive a good human interest story.”

The warden stood.  “Why don’t I escort you to the conference room myself, Mr. Carter.”

“That’s very charitable of you, Warden.”

“Call me Abram.”

“Yes, Sir, Abram.”

Perfect.  I had the warden in my hip pocket.  If I could pull off the client/attorney relationship, I’d have full access to my brother whenever I needed.  If Joe didn’t blow my cover, perhaps I could unearth a future for him after all.

The warden and I walked into the conference room first.  He showed me to a table and said my client would be in shortly.  The stench of his cigar covered the foul-smelling scent of unwashed men.  Two other prisoners sat with their lawyers.  I made the third.  

I stood when Joe was brought in.  He looked surprised to see me and grinned as he crossed the room, but something wasn’t right.  My brother favored his right leg, and it appeared that his right cheekbone had met with someone’s fist.  

“Hey, Broth—”

“Let’s not be so formal, Joseph.”  I raised my right hand and Joe shook it with gusto.  Why don’t you call me Addison?”

Joe was a bright boy.  He understood my meaning right away.  “Fine.  It’s good to see you.”

“You too.  Let’s get down to business.”

Joe took a seat across from me at a scared, wooden table.  As I glanced around the room to note where the guards were and whether they could hear our conversation or not, I realized how void of decoration the four walls seemed to be.  Nothing from the outside world was allowed inside prison walls.  The object was to break and control the men who were trapped inside.  

“What happened to your face?”

“It’s nothing.”

“How about your leg.”

“Let it go, Ad … ison.  It doesn’t matter.”

It mattered to me, but I let it go.  “Okay.  As you wish.”

Joe tried to look away.  He was good at avoiding the obvious, but I garnered his attention when I resumed my role as his lawyer.

“I told the guard I was your attorney.  That’s what got me inside.  I need to hear the whole story from you instead of Hoss and Pa.  I want to know if there’s something you might’ve forgotten to tell the judge.  Is there something you left out?  Why would Mort Wilson say you robbed his bank?”

“Didn’t Pa fill you in?”

“I haven’t been home.  I just got in from San Francisco.”

“And you came here first?”

“That’s right.  We don’t have much time, but let’s start from the beginning.  I know there was a poker game.  Start with that and don’t leave anything out.”

“I lost two thousand dollars on a Full House.” Joe explained everything he knew to be true.  He left nothing out, but his story ended the minute he came through the prison gates.  “That’s it.  That’s all I know.”

“That’s enough for me to start with.  I’ll head back to Virginia City when I leave here.  I have a bit of snooping to do.”

“What about Pa.  Aren’t you going home first?”

“No.  Something isn’t right, Joe, and I plan to find out everything I can about Mort Wilson before I talk to Pa.”

“He’s one of Pa’s best friends.”

“I know he is, and I think that’s part of the problem.  Pa trusts Mort.  Most of our assets are tied up in his bank.  The judge knows Wilson to be a decent man.  I may be barking up the wrong tree, but I know you’re not a bank robber, and I plan to find out who needed ten thousand dollars bad enough to rob Wilson’s bank.”

“What good’s that going to do now?  I’ve been convicted.  I’ve been sentenced to ten years.  Even if you figure something out, the judge isn’t gonna change his mind and let me out.”

“Let me worry about that.  You just stay out of trouble.  Understand?”

“Yeah.  It ain’t easy.”

“Make it easy.”

I hated to leave but I had to make things look good.  The most I could do was shake my brother’s hand, and I did.  “I’ll be back as soon as I know something.”

“Thanks for coming, Ad … thanks.”

As I crossed the conference room, Joe remained at the table.  I didn’t know many of the rules, but I assumed he wasn’t allowed to leave on his own.  He’d probably be shackled before someone marched him back to his cell.  I didn’t turn back.  I didn’t want to see the look on his face.  When I stood to leave, I witnessed a look of defeat and I found myself looking away.  He’d given up and I couldn’t blame him, but I swore I’d get the boy out from behind those damn bars.  Life wasn’t fair, and Joe had been wrongly convicted.  That’s something I knew for sure.

By the time I returned to Virginia City, I was tired and hungry.  I still needed that bath and shave.  I looked like a miner who hadn’t seen civility for weeks, but I needed something to eat.  At least I didn’t smell as bad as the prisoners, and I stopped at a new restaurant on the edge of town.

The shingle read “POPPY’S”.  I didn’t know the owner and hopefully, I wouldn’t see anyone that would be disgusted by my appearance.  I hitched the rental and walked inside.  A lovely young woman sat me in the corner next to a window.

“Thank you.  This will be fine.”

Across the room on a large wooden board were the entries and prices.  Steak and fried potatoes were always a hit with me, and that’s what I ordered.  I rarely left the house without a book and if management didn’t mind, I would read until my dinner was served.  

After giving the young gal—probably the owner’s daughter—my order, I glanced around the small café and realized I had company, but something was wrong.  He had a companion that wasn’t Mrs. Wilson.  Curious.  With my dinner finished, I left cash on the table and scooted out of the little café before I was recognized.  Perhaps my scruffy appearance was a blessing after all.  

I’d left Sport at the livery nearly two weeks ago.  It was time to trade in the rental and pick up my trusty steed.  The rental was okay, but a man always prefers his own mount.  A theory had formed in my mind, but zero proof made my notion impossible to prove.  Maybe it was all wishful thinking.  Maybe I was grabbing at straws, but something had to be done before Joe became institutionalized and would never recover.  It happened to the best of men, but not my little brother.

Pa greeted me with a hearty handshake and said supper was on the table.  I sat with the family while they ate and perhaps I could stomach some dessert, but I’d already eaten and my brain filled with unhealthy thoughts about Mort Wilson.

“How’d everything go, Son?”

“No problems.  Contract’s signed.  We can start felling trees tomorrow.”

“Good.  With everything else going on, I haven’t given timber much thought.”

“I understand.”

There were so many things I wanted to ask Pa about the banker but wondered if I was way off track.  Thinking his actions weren’t on the up and up was more like Joe’s kind of thinking rather than mine.  I was a man who dealt with facts first, and I had none, but who was the young lady and why was she with a fifty-year-old man?  I’d seen his wife several times, and his dinner companion wasn’t the woman he’d married.

Joe’s life was at stake, and I’d have to mention my discovery to Pa.  Whether I was on the right track or not, I couldn’t seem to think things through on my own.  “I saw someone today.”

“Who’s that, Son?”

“Mort Wilson.  We both chose that new little café called Poppy’s on the south side of town.”

“It must’ve been awkward to run into him like that.”

“We didn’t speak.  Maybe it was my appearance that kept him from recognizing me.”

“Surely not.  He and his wife have known you for years.”

“Yes, that’s true, but Mort wasn’t with his wife.”

“That’s odd.  It’s rare to see one without the other after business hours.”

“He was dining with a woman closer to Joe’s age than Marion’s.”

That caught Pa and Hoss’ attention, and they both looked up from their plates of food.  “It must have been a niece or a friend of the family.  You know Mort Wilson as well as I do, Adam, and I hope you’re not suggesting …”

“No, I’m not suggesting anything, Pa.  Just an observation.”

Perhaps Pa was right.  Perhaps I was making too much out of Wilson’s luncheon companion.  The last person I thought I’d see before I made it home was the man who had accused my brother of such a ridiculous crime.  Maybe I’d read too many books, too many mysteries.  Of course, Joe would have a heyday with such material.  After reading all those dime novels, he’d come up with a scenario that turned out twice as outlandish as my feeble thoughts might allow.

But Joe was like that.  He had an imagination that wouldn’t quit.  Practicality slipped out the front door when inspiration took over.  Without blinking an eye, he could make up the most ridiculous story, and make the damn thing believable.  We’d all fallen for his tall tales at one point or another.  We’d all been fooled by the manipulative way his mind worked.  I’m not saying he was a devious person, but he was good at projecting life into something the rest of us thought was rubbish but important to him.  The boy could smell it and taste it, and soon his weary partner could too.  Though there wasn’t a bird in sight, if he said he heard one chirping, his companion could hear it too.  

I never understood how convincing he could be.  It was a talent I didn’t possess, nor did Hoss, but Joe had that underlying power of persuasion.  Although I’ve gotten way off track, if he’d been with me at Poppy’s, I wonder what he’d have to say about Mort and his young companion?

When I stood from the dining room table, two sets of eyes clamped down on me.  

“Ain’t you even gonna have dessert, Adam.”

“Not tonight, Brother.  I’ve had a long day.”

Because I hadn’t mentioned stopping by the prison, I could easily ride back down sometime this week.  Playing the part of Joe’s lawyer had gone well, and I could pull it off again.  If I let the beard grow, I’d look more distinguished, more like a prominent attorney coming to see his client.  I didn’t know whether Joe could help me figure things out or not, but it was sure worth a try.  

Chapter 3:  Joe

Seeing Adam had made things worse.  I tried not to miss the family, but how could I not?  They were a part of me, people I saw every day, but that life had been taken away.  No more Hop Sing’s dinners.  No more joking with Hoss or trying to fool Adam.  No more of Adam’s snide remarks or Pa’s hand running across my shoulders when I needed that special touch.  All of it was gone and I was alone in the world.

The clothes I’d been given hung on me like rags.  I asked for a piece of rope to keep my trousers from dropping to my ankles, but my request was denied so I tied a knot in the waistband.  It’s the best I could do.  

I assumed life would become easier over the next few weeks and months.  Once I grew accustomed to the routine and learned how to play the game, maybe I wouldn’t miss my home and family so much.  The sooner I became institutionalized, the better off I’d be.

When I lay back on my cot, my cellmate, Tommy Lee, had already begun snoring louder than a bawling steer.  Every night he lay flat on his back and that annoying rumbling sound nearly shook the ten-inch-thick sandstone walls.  Hoss would have a boatload of competition if he tried to out-snore the huge sonovabitch I’d spend the next ten years living with. 

After tucking my hands behind my head, I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t stop thinking of the Ponderosa and all it had to offer.  The rides Cooch and I would take and the daredevil stunts we would perform when no one was watching.  I loved that dang horse more than anything, and I missed him as much as my family.

I needed sleep.  Tomorrow would come soon enough, and I’d be back in the quarry hammering sandstone into smaller pieces.  I knew there was a purpose, but I didn’t much care.  If I could bide my time and stay alive, it would be a miracle.  I’d already seen one man killed, and I didn’t want to be next.  

No one played by the rules.  The guards would come up with a new set of orders as they went along.  I tried to abide.  I tried to keep my mouth shut, but it wasn’t my nature to let things go.  I wasn’t that type of person.  Challenging people who got in my way was more my style.  I usually found a way around authority.  It’s not that I never got caught, but I was cleverer than most. 

By morning, I hoped Adam would make another appearance as my lawyer.  He had plenty of work to do on the ranch, but I knew my situation was on his mind.  Pa had done everything possible to change the course of my incarceration, but he’d had no luck.  If Adam could convince Mr. Wilson to tell him who really robbed his bank, I’d be home before Thanksgiving.  Watching the leaves turn gold and red from a jail cell wasn’t my idea of an exciting life.

Wilson’s only relative was his wife, Marion.  They’d never had children.  He didn’t have brothers or sisters in town, so who was he protecting?  Pa was possibly his best friend.  He attended most social events and he ran a decent bank so why me?  Why had he fingered me for the robbery?

Chapter 4:  Hoss

Adam filled me in.  He gave me more information than he gave Pa and thought we could work together to save Little Joe.  If we failed, Pa wouldn’t have to know and wouldn’t have to repeat a bad chapter in his life.

Since Wilson knew Pa and Adam better’n he knew me, I would keep on his tail and see what a normal day looked like for the banker.  Adam wanted to see Joe again but thought he should wait a few days.  Big Brother grew a beard, and I chuckled when he told me the reason.  Distinguished?  Maybe so.  I didn’t pay much attention to that kind of thing.

After breakfast, I saddled Chubb and made my way into town.  Standing around waiting for Wilson to come out of the bank would make for a long day, and it reminded me of another bank robbery when Joe had me on lookout.  I also remember the pretty little gal who marched by me more than once.  She saved me from total boredom.  Maybe it would happen again.

There was a bright spot across the street from the bank.  The sun was warm, but the air was cool this time of year.  Though most Old-timers called it Indian Summer, and even though we were heading into winter, autumn seemed to hold promise.  I enjoyed the cooler days and bright blue skies.   No doubt my favorite time of year.

By lunchtime I was starving, and I hoped Mr. Wilson wasn’t one of those miserly bankers who brought their lunch to work.  A decent lunch would carry me through to dinner, but if that wasn’t the case, I’d be as grouchy as a mama bear whose cubs were on the wrong side of the creek.  

When Mort Wilson came out the front door of his bank, he started up the boardwalk and then slipped into the millinery shop.  Was he buying his wife a hat rather than eating lunch?  My dream of a juicy steak and a mountain of potatoes was beginning to fade.  I leaned against an upright and waited … and waited.  After an hour’s time, I strolled by the millinery first, then the bank, glanced through the front window, and saw the banker.  How the heck had I missed him?  I’d kept a watchful eye.  Adam wouldn’t like this at all.

I should’ve ridden home but I was so disgusted with my day of watching and learning nothing, I headed to the Bucket of Blood for a cold one.  Johnny Oldman, the guy who pocketed my father’s money was trying his luck with some of the hands from the Circle C.  I leaned my back against the bar and watched the goings on.  The young man lost repeatedly, but he never ran out of cash.  Was he spending my father’s hard-earned money?  At the rate he was going, that little chunk of change would’ve vanished a long time ago, which made me wonder.  How did a young foreman come up with so much money that losing hand after hand wasn’t a problem?

It was time to ride home. Since it took me all day to pick up the mail, Pa would have himself all worked up for nothing.  Maybe Adam could figure all this out.  The only thing I managed to do was come up with more questions than answers.

Chapter 5:  Joe

Though I tried to do as Adam asked, I failed miserably.  I’d become fodder for the best sport inside prison walls, but I was slow to catch on.  I let the other inmates goad me until I threw the first punch and would end up in the sweatbox for at least twenty-four hours. I didn’t know misery until a guard named Simpler pushed me inside and locked the iron door for the first time.  

The metal box was a teaching tool, but it proved worthless.  I had more cuts and bruises than any man deserved, but nothing had been broken, nothing had been cut off.  When a man named Ralph was a newcomer, he’d lost his right ear.  It was an odd look, and I didn’t want to look like Ralph.  Besides, every man has goals, and mine was to keep both ears firmly attached.  

Men died in the box.  If an inmate was left for more than a day in the boiling sun, the metal became too hot to lean against, which made the 6’x6’x6’ confinement even smaller.  I’m not a big man, and I endured my day and night, but a larger man like Hoss wouldn’t fare as well.

This brings me back to the family and how much I needed my brother.  Hoss was my best friend, my confidante.  He knew my life inside and out.  If I slipped into a melancholy mood, he’d find ways to cheer me up and make life fun again, but prison changed the game.  Melancholy set in the day the gates closed behind me, and Hoss wasn’t around to help.  I wasn’t sure how long I could hold my own without him.

“Okay, Cartwright.  You did your time.”

After twenty-four hours of isolation, my head swam, and my legs were useless.  I crawled across loose dirt and out of the box.  When I tried to shield my eyes from the bright sunlight, Simpler grabbed my hands and slapped a set of cuffs on my wrists.  He pushed me ahead of him, and I stumbled along as if I had a snootful, but I could only dream of that frothy beer that made men stumble and crawl.  It would be ten long years before I stepped inside a saloon and ordered myself a cold one.

The guard threw his weight around like a bully.  I’d never forget the name, Simpler; he did his job well.  The inmates had given him nicknames that weren’t too kind, but they fit like a glove.  He was a heartless man, cruel and vicious, and gave prison guards a bad name.  Some said he’d worked for the penal system for nearly twenty years.  A job like that puts a lot of miles on a man.  Maybe he wasn’t caged like the rest of us, but he walked the same halls and ate the same grub.  He only left the grounds once a week, and he was only gone for a day.  He was nearly as institutionalized as the inmates he ordered around.

Simpler was quick to take his anger out on anyone within reach, and I was an easy target.  When he grabbed the back of my shirt, I coughed and choked, and reached for my throat.  He was mad about something, and it didn’t seem to matter what had upset him, but I stopped in my tracks.  With nothing to eat or drink for twenty-four hours, I didn’t have enough energy to fight him off.  And, if I tried something that stupid, I’d be back in the box.

When his right knee connected with the small of my back, I tumbled to my hands and knees, and the coughing continued until I gagged and tasted blood.  Maybe I bit my tongue or the side of my cheek.  I wasn’t sure, but Simpler wasn’t done with me.  After pulling me to my feet, he found humor in my discomfort.   When he led me toward the door and shoved me into the stone wall, his laughter expanded so everyone could hear.  The gash on my forehead bled, but I held my tongue.  Turning and facing the guard head-on would’ve earned me more time in the box.  Even though I fought through my cowardly attitude, I was learning how to play the game.

Tommy Lee shook his head when Simpler shoved me inside our cell.  “Hands, Boy.”  He’d shut the cell door and I slid my hands through the bars so he could uncuff my wrists, but he had other plans.  He took the cuff off my left wrist and rather than doing the same with the right, he clamped the cuff shut around a bar halfway up the door, and that’s how I would stay until morning.  Standing.

Chapter 6:  Hoss

Pa knew something was up.  Me and Adam had been to town more than usual, but he didn’t ask questions.  I figure he knew what we was up to and he’d turned a blind eye.  That left me and Adam to do whatever we could to bring Little Joe home.

When I told Big Brother about that mercantile business, his suspicions grew.  Mort Wilson was hiding something and me and Adam thought we knew the sordid details, but we didn’t have no proof.  Nothing about his private life made him a bank robber.  We needed that connection and so far, we didn’t have a clue.

After breakfast, Hop Sing handed over his list and me and Adam rode into town again.  The early morning air was cool, but by noon we’d be telling a different story.  Though the calendar said October, the days were still warm, but winter would be upon us soon.  I sure didn’t want Joe to have to spend them winter months in prison.  I couldn’t think of anything worse.

After loading Hop Sing’s supplies, I took my post across from the bank while Adam walked into the millinery on the pretense of buying a gift for a lady friend.  It was noon straight up and we was hoping for a repeat of Wilson’s luncheon date, but that wasn’t the case.  Rather than walk out with nothing, Adam spent $1.19 on a silly item he didn’t need.  

While he shelled out hard-earned money, I was hot on the tail of Wilson who’d headed in the opposite direction down the boardwalk.  How many women could one man have?  I wasn’t exactly jealous, more like shocked, I guess.  Mort wasn’t nowhere close to a lady’s man.  He didn’t have much hair on his head.  Besides being pasty white, he was plenty thick around the middle.  He just weren’t the type to have women throwing themselves in his direction.  That was my little brother, not the banker.

When Wilson ducked into an alley, I wasn’t sure what to do.  If I followed, I’d be easy to spot.  The boardwalks were crowded, and I could be heading somewhere important, but a vacant alley?  Not so much.

I waited a minute then casually stepped off the boardwalk and glanced down the alley as I continued forward.  Not only was Mort Wilson trying to hide behind a wooden crate, but so was Johnny Oldman, the poker player with easy money.  I had several thoughts, but Adam and I needed to talk before I got too excited.

““`

“That’s all well and good, Hoss, but we still don’t have any proof.”  

“Maybe it’s time to run it past Pa.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

““`

Every day my brother sat in that prison was a day too long.  The leaves were changing colors.  There was a chill in the air.  The holidays weren’t far away, and Little Joe wasn’t with us.  I hoped Pa wouldn’t make us celebrate this year.  I don’t think any of us was in the mood for frills and gaiety.  

After supper, Adam and I gave Pa all the information we’d come by so far.  Mort and his young luncheon companion.  Mort and Johnny in the alley.  What did it all mean?  

“You got any thoughts, Pa?”

“I have the same thoughts you do, Son, but what does it prove?  Mort might be having an affair, but that doesn’t mean he robbed his own bank.  That only means he’s being untrue to his wife.”

“What if that little gal is demanding cash for her services?”

“You think she’s a prostitute?”

“That ain’t exactly what I said, but can’t a woman want more than a man’s expected to give?”

“I see what you’re saying, but Mort’s not a poor man.  Taking a woman to lunch now and then wouldn’t break him.  Maybe we need to find out more about the young lady?  Do either of you know her?”

“She’s new to these parts.  Got a job at Rose Aragon’s millinery as soon as she hit town.”  

“Maybe Rose would have some answers.”

Adam had been awful quiet.  “What do you think, Brother?”

“What Pa says makes sense.  I’ll check her out tomorrow.”

“I’ll take my regular post across from the bank.  Somethin’s gotta give soon, Adam.  We can’t do this forever.”

Chapter 7:  Joe

Tommy Lee slid my cot close to the bars that night.  I couldn’t lay down, but at least I could sit rather than stand.  It’s funny who became an ally, and who was out to make life miserable.  When I was placed inside the cell, I’ll admit Tommy Lee scared me some.  I’d heard prison stories, and Tommy outweighed me by a hundred pounds.  He could do a lot of damage if he felt the urge.  Luckily, he took my side from the start.  

Simpler had singled me out as someone he could manipulate.  If I said nothing, I was screwed.  If I fought back, I was screwed even worse.  Tommy Lee Mercer sympathized with my dilemma and did what he could when no one was looking.  Like dragging the cot to the cell door.  He’d have it moved back in place before the guards started a new day.  When Simpler stopped in front of our cell the following morning, he found me leaning against the bars and assumed I’d stayed on my feet all night.

“Have a good night’s sleep. Boy?”

“Just fine, Sir.”

“That’s good.”

Even though I’d had a bed to sit on, I didn’t sleep much with my head crushing against metal.  I hoped it was time to remove the cuffs, but I should’ve paid more attention to Simpler’s mood.  The onery sonovabitch slammed my wrists with his Billy Club and smiled when I screamed.  If my wrists were broken, I wouldn’t know for ten years.  The infirmary was set up for the dying, not men with minor injuries like busted bones.

The cuffs were removed, and the cell door was opened so Tommy Lee and I could walk down the corridor with the other inmates and eat worm-infested gruel before heading outside to hammer sandstone.  

Dusk never came soon enough.  The days were long and today would be worse than most.  The strength in my wrists was gone.  Could I even hold a hammer?  If I didn’t keep up with the others, I’d be punished until I was able to carry on.  A few more days in the iron box, and I’d be done in.  A man could only take so much.  A man needed hope, and I was beginning to lose faith that I’d ever have a future without bars.

Adam hadn’t been back to visit.  No Hoss.  No Pa.  They’d gone ahead with their lives.  The ranch was a busy place, and I understood why there wasn’t time to delve into my troubles.  The judge had seen fit to send me here.  He knew what this place was like, and he probably realized I’d never return home.

With chains on our ankles, we marched single file to the pits of hell where I’d spend every day for the rest of my life.  When I picked up my sledge, it took all my power to lift it above my head and break the rocks at my feet.  I’d never last all day.  Simpler had done quite a number on my wrists and my swing was too weak to break stone.   It wouldn’t take long before someone realized I wasn’t doing my share.

“Cartwright!”

I heard someone shout, but I didn’t stop swinging the twenty-pound hammer. 

“Hey.  You!  Cartwright!”

I stopped and turned to find Simpler’s flunky, Jimmy Coons, heading down into the pit.

“Get moving, Cartwright.  Someone wants to see you.”

Oh, God.  Could it be Adam?  Did he have news?  I dropped my sledge on the ground and started up the hill.  My mood had flipped so fast, I could feel my heartbeat.  Adam had news.  It had to be good, or he wouldn’t have come all this way.  By now, he’d have a full beard.  In a year’s time, I couldn’t grow anything that resembled my brother’s mass of facial hair.  Adam the Cartwright’s attorney.  I couldn’t wait to see him.

Although the chains hindered my movements, I scurried up the hill and met Coons at the top.  Everyone carried a shotgun, and he was no exception.

“Courtyard, Cartwright.  Move.”

It seemed like a roundabout way of getting to the conference room, but Coons must’ve had his reasons, and I marched straight through the narrow gateway leading to the center of the prison where I stopped cold.

There wasn’t any Adam.  I’d let myself believe the best in people, and I was wrong.  Simpler stood next to the iron box.  He smiled when he saw me coming.

“Sorry, Cartwright.  Just following orders.”

“That’s okay, Jimmy.  I should’ve known.”

“If it ain’t my favorite inmate.”

I stood in front of my nemesis.  “What’d I do this time, Simpler?”

“You ain’t keeping up, Boy.  You know the rules.  Slackers spend time in the box.”

“I wasn’t—”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing what?”

“Nothing, Sir.”

Coons unlocked the chains from my ankles and gave me a quick nod as if apologizing for having to do the tasks his boss ordered him to do.  Simpler wasted no time.  He grabbed my shirt at the shoulder and shoved me inside, slammed the door shut, and turned the key in the lock.  

“Think about your transgressions, Boy.  There ain’t no freeloadin’ in prison.  Not even for rich kids whose daddy owns half of Nevada.  All of Papa’s money ain’t doing you any good now, is it?”

Chapter 8:  Adam

I always enjoyed the ride down to Carson.  Stately pines covered each side of the road and were always alive with songbirds and God’s little critters that circled trees and bushes for seeds and berries.  They never minded my passing through.  I kept to myself, and they did too.

The ride was different now.  There was no joy, only thoughts of my young brother and how he was coping in his new environment.  Joe could be a hothead, and that worried us all.  This time, I had good news.  We had a theory, a good theory.  Not enough proof to overturn the conviction, but we were closing in.  I wanted Joe to know the latest results.

“Addison Carter,” I said to the man at the gate.  “Mr. Cartwright’s attorney.”

“I remember, Sir.”  He pulled the gate open and let me pass.

I tipped my sleek new bowler at the gatekeeper.  I looked like a dandy, and I was anxious to see the look on my brother’s face.  Hopefully, he wouldn’t blow my cover, but he might have a good, silent laugh.

At the next stopping point, the guard held me for only a minute before escorting me to the warden’s office.  After a moment of courteous chitchat, the warden had his man, Rudy, take me down to the conference room.  He sent for Carl, his number two man to bring Joe up from the quarry.

I sat at a wooden table and waited.  And waited.  What could possibly take so long?  I heard hammers cracking rock as I was led to the warden’s office.  The quarry wasn’t that far away, just down the hill between the prison walls and the prison cemetery.  After nearly half an hour, I stood and rapped on the conference door.  

“I don’t have all day.  Is Mr. Cartwright coming or not?”

“I’ll see what I can do, Sir.”

Rudy left to find Joe, but I could only hear his footsteps.  I didn’t know which direction he went.  Locked inside the conference room, I was as much a prisoner as anyone.  I couldn’t leave.  I couldn’t see outside or even down the hall.  After sitting alone for less than an hour, I started to feel what Joe must feel every day of his life.  

The sense of abandonment was overwhelming, and an acute taste of despondency filtered through me.  I had no way to prevent it from happening.  I held my hands out and studied my correctly shaped fingernails.  How would a man deal with silly things like fingernails in a place like this?

I rubbed my hands over my face to clear the craziness from my mind.  I was the smart one, the steady one, and I had to be strong for Joe.  I couldn’t let my mind wander.  I came to do a job, to fill Joe in, not fall into some dark hole I couldn’t climb out of.  

That’s enough.  I was tired of waiting and moved toward the door.  I knocked as loud as I could.  The sound was hollow, heard by only me.  Though I wanted to yell, I didn’t.  They’d think I was some sort of lunatic if I began screaming and cursing.  If they forgot about me, how long would I be locked in this hell hole, waiting?

Out of frustration, I leaned back against the wall.  Soon after, I heard footsteps.  “Hey!  Let me out of here!”  As I anticipated freedom, a key turned in the lock and Rudy was back.  “Finally.  What’s going on?  Where’s Cartwright.”

“Um … there’s been a problem.  The warden will explain.”

I followed Rudy down the stone walkway. “Where’s Carl?  What’s happened to Cartwright?”

“The warden will explain.”

He’d said that twice now.  Rudy wasn’t talking.  Patience was a virtue, and I was a patient man, but my patience was slipping away.  Today, I felt like my young brother although I could keep my tongue.  Could he?

Warden Curry stood behind his mahogany desk when I walked into his office.  “Have a seat, Mr. Carter.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Your client is indisposed.”

“What do you mean, indisposed?  Is Mr. Cartwright ill?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Then what seems to be the problem?”

“In an institution like this, we must maintain control over the inmates.  If one gets out of hand, his actions can cause a disruption throughout.  One bad egg—you know the saying.”

“Go on.”

“Some men settle in without any persuasion at all, and some don’t seem to conform.   Your client needs more attention than most.  Discipline is the key, Mr. Carter.”

“I assume my client’s infraction was minimal.”

“Not exactly.  Mr.  Simpler, one of our more qualified guards, has found Mr. Cartwright incorrigible.”

“Incorrigible?  That’s not the man I know.” 

“The bottom line is that you won’t be seeing your client today.  Perhaps next week.”

“Next week?”  I sat back in my chair and tried to think.  “If my client is being punished now, may I see him this afternoon?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Carter.  Joe Cartwright has been put in the box and won’t be coming out for at least twenty-four hours.”

“Excuse me.  The box?”

“Isolation.  The iron box is a 6’x6’x6’ structure in the center of the courtyard.  Most men cope with little or no discomfort.”

“Most?”

“There are always exceptions.”

What the hell had the kid done to deserve a punishment like that?  “Show me.”

“I can show you the box, but I can’t allow contact with your client while his attitude is being adjusted.”

Attitude adjustment?  An odd term, but I knew not to argue the point.  God knows, I didn’t want Joe to be punished for something I said, but something was way out of kilter.  Joe promised he’d keep out of trouble, and the kid rarely broke a promise.  I’d return in two days and if my brother wasn’t free, there’d be hell to pay.

Chapter 9:  Joe

Curled in a fetal position on hardpacked ground, I breathed in stale, hot air, and prayed for the end to come.  Whether I prayed for the end of my life or the end of the punishment, I wasn’t sure.  I wouldn’t last much longer.  Sweating during the day and freezing at night didn’t do a man much good.  Neither did loneliness.  That was the worst, and that’s what bothered me the most.

I loved my family, and I enjoyed my friends.  I needed those people to make my life worthwhile, but everyone had been taken from me.  I suppose that was the whole idea.  Remove a man’s previous life, stick him in a damn box, and see what happens.  

Maybe I already knew how the story would end.  Nothing good came from isolating a man and turning him into an animal.  I didn’t feel human, and I’d been an inmate for less than a month.  What the hell would I be like after ten years?  Would I be recognized by the outside world?  Would my family want the old Joe back, or could they live with the man I’d become?

Those are the thoughts that occupied a man’s mind when he was left alone to think and dream and lose his mind.  I lay in my own filth.  There was no chamber pot and handing me food was a game Simpler liked to play.  

“Should I feed him today?”  Laughter.

“Should I water the filthy animal?”  Laughter.

As a prisoner, it wouldn’t be wise to respond, and I kept my thoughts to myself, but the taunt today hit me harder than most. 

“Saw your attorney today, Cartwright.”

I rolled my eyes.  

“Warden wouldn’t let him see you.”

I found that hard to believe.  The way I understood things, a lawyer always had the right to see his client.  Adam would never let that happen.  He knew the law as well as anyone, and he knew right from wrong.  Adam was the smartest guy I knew, and I trusted him to work like the devil to get me out of this place.  He’d never leave the prison without seeing me.

Chapter 10:  Hoss

“If I hadn’t seen them with my own eyes, I wouldn’t be sayin’ nothing, but Johnny Oldman’s been taking money regular-like from old man Wilson.  At twelve o’clock straight up, they meet in the alley next to the bank, and Wilson hands over the cash.  Last three days, Big Brother, and I’ll bet you a cold one it’ll happen again today.”

“Do you know how much?”

“No.  I couldn’t see that good, but I seen greenbacks changin’ hands.”

“It only means one thing.  Our banker is paying Johnny off.  Seems to me that Oldman knows something Mort doesn’t want anyone else to know.”

“Yeah, but what?”

“First of all, that little princess he’s been taking out to lunch.  I bet Johnny threatened to tell Marion.”

“Marion?”

“Mrs. Wilson.”

“Oh, yeah.  Did you tell Pa about Joe?”

“No.”

“You gonna?”

“No.”  Adam slid his hand across my shoulder.  He wasn’t one to keep secrets and neither was I, but these were special times.  “You know what that would do to Pa?  His son immobilized in an iron box?  No, he doesn’t need to know everything.”

“Guess that’s okay for now.”

“Why don’t you saddle the horses.  We need to get to town.”

Adam was right.  We had to be in position before noon, but then what?  Staring at Wilson paying off Johnny Oldman wasn’t helping Joe at all.  Even though we didn’t know much, should we tell Roy?  Hiram?  I didn’t know the law like my brother.

Money changed hands just before Wilson picked up his lady-friend.  Adam and me both saw it this time. Right after the exchange, we scurried down to Poppy’s Café hoping Mort and his little gal would entertain us with their appearance.  Since the banker knew Adam, my brother sat with his back to the rest of the patrons.  I sat across from him and was his eyes.  The couple didn’t disappoint.

“I have an idea,” Adam said after we were served lunch.

I broke a piece of bread in half and looked up at my brother.  “You gonna let me in on it?”

“Maybe it’s time to run a bluff.”

“What kinda bluff?”

“What have we got?  Bits and pieces but nothing that will get Joe out of prison.  What if I make Wilson think that Roy and I have much more?”

“Is it legal to lie like that?”

“I’m not under oath.”

“I like the way you think, Big Brother.”

“Good.  I want you with me.”

Surprised, I furrowed my brow at my brother.  “Me?”

“Yep.  It never hurts to have a little muscle in the room.”

No one said Adam was stupid, but I hoped he knew what he was doing.  I tried to think of all the ways his bluff could backfire and cause even bigger problems for Joe.

“Let’s go down to the Sazerac and grab a glass of courage.”

“I’m right there with you, Adam.”

Chapter 11:  Joe

Twilight.  The day’s going fast now.  The barren landscape offers nothing of beauty or privilege.  People used to say I was privileged, that I had everything handed to me on a silver platter.  That I didn’t work for a living.  That I loafed my way through life and that Papa paid for everything.  That wasn’t how it worked on the Ponderosa, but no one cared to hear the real story.  

People cheer when the good guy fails, or when the wealthy fall from grace.  My family had been fortunate, but our wealth came from hard work and constant attention to the land.  We were a family of four, and we didn’t think we could be broken, but when power lands in the wrong hands, all is lost.  I was lost and feared I’d never be found.

I was dying.  It was a slow death, but the flame had vanished, the spirit of Joe Cartwright had left, and I felt hollow inside.  It was difficult to explain, but I lost all hope.  Could I fight long enough or hard enough to save my life?  Not when I was outnumbered and didn’t have my brothers to watch my back.

Maybe I was wrong.  Maybe I’d been privileged all my life and wasn’t aware, but I was beginning to see how living without friends or family left a man singled out to be attacked or beaten or thrown in an iron box when he was guilty of nothing but being a loner in a strange place.  

Chapter 12:  Adam

When Hoss and I walked into the bank that afternoon, I tried to play it cool.  While Hoss studied the pretty girls at the Sazerac, I ran the bluff over in my head.  If we were successful, Joe had a chance.  If I blew it, Wilson would be onto us and use more caution going forward, and we’d never prove a thing.

“Good afternoon, Adam, Hoss.  What can I do for you?”

Jason Cory was a combination of accountant, loan manager, and greeter.  “I’d like to see Mr. Wilson if I may.”

“One moment.”

Cory dashed across the room and knocked just below the door’s brass plaque that spelled in bold print—MORT WILSON:  BANK PRESIDENT—and in no time I was seated in front of his desk while Hoss hovered by the door.  

“What can I do for you boys.”  Business as usual.  His greeting seemed bold for the man who’d sent my brother to prison.“Did your father send you?” 

“No, Sir.  My father doesn’t know we’re here although I’m sure he would approve of our visit.”

“Go on.  What can I do for you?”

“My brother and I are through playing games, Mort.  Now that we know the truth, I want my young brother home where he belongs.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Johnny Oldman.  Does that ring a bell?  Johnny Oldman?”

“I’m sorry.  I don’t believe we’re acquainted.”

“I believe you are, and I believe you’re paying him a tidy sum for his silence.”

“Silence?  Surely you’re not serious?”

Hoss leaned forward.  He didn’t waste time with liars, but he needed to hold back for now.  “I’m serious, Mort.  My brother has been watching.  He’s seen money change hands.”

“That means nothing, Adam.  I gave the young lad some much-needed cash.”

“How many days in a row?  You’re a banker.  You’ve never made a habit of helping charity cases.  It’s time to rethink what you want to say next.  I’d like to hear your story before I offer our information to Sheriff Coffee.”

“That bumbling sheriff wouldn’t know the truth from a lie.”

“Let’s go with the truth then, Mort.  Why did you frame my brother?  Was that Johnny’s idea?”  

“Don’t be silly, Adam.”

“How about the young lady you’ve been sleeping with?  Does Marion know?  Would you rather discuss the woman instead of the payoff?”

Mort slapped his palms on his desk and stood from his chair.  “Enough.  You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I stood and stared the man in the eye.  “I know who robbed the bank, and it wasn’t my little brother, was it, Mort?”

“I saw him with my own eyes.  I know it was him.  I testified, Adam.”

“Where’s the money, Mort?  In a safe-deposit box or did you hide it at home?  Are you paying the young woman for services rendered?”

“I’ll have you know; I don’t have to pay women to sleep with me.”

“So, the two of you are sleeping together.  Does Marion know?  Have you asked your wife for a divorce?  Is she willing?”

Mort pointed to the door.  “Get out!”

I turned to Hoss.  “Let’s go see what Mrs. Wilson has to say.”

“That’s a fine idea, Brother.”

“Why are you doing this, Adam?”

With fire in my eyes, I glared at the banker.  “Because you framed Little Joe, and I want him home.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand very well.  Johnny pulled my brother into a poker game he should’ve stayed away from.  He found a way to render Joe of two thousand dollars, my father’s money.  That was your idea, wasn’t it, Mort?  You knew what would happen.  Desperation does funny things to a man.  Joe had to find two thousand dollars before our father found out, and what could be more convenient than robbing a bank?

“The little lady likes fine things, doesn’t she?  She demands items you can’t afford.  Diamonds maybe?  Emeralds?  Whatever she needed, you wanted to provide, and what other way than to rob your own bank?

“Tell me I’m lying.  Tell me I made the story up, that you’re an upright citizen with morals so high, you could never do anything of the kind.  Tell me how it really is, Mort.”

The banker fell into his chair and hid his face with both hands.  He sobbed like a baby.  I turned and motioned Hoss to get the sheriff.  Part truth, part bluff, but it worked like magic.  The gears of justice were turning, and it was only a matter of time before Joe would be released.

Chapter 13:  Joe

I tried to walk, but my legs were useless.  Simpler called his man, Coons, over to help.  “Grab his arm,” he said.  “Damn boy’s legs dun gone out from under him.”

“What the hell did you do to this boy?”

“Nothing much.”

“You tied him, didn’t you?  You hogtied him inside that box.”

“So, what if I did?  He ain’t nothing but a rich kid that needs taken down a peg.”

“Rich kid or not.  Don’t mean you have to torture him for two days.  That’s a lousy thing to do.”

“Listen, Coons.  I used to work for his daddy.  His deep voice meant business, and he prided himself on hiring guys like me to do all the hard work.”

“Why’d you stay?”

“Why does anyone stay?  I needed the money, but I noticed things.  I noticed a young man riding a horse I could never afford.  I noticed his clothes, finer than anything I’d ever own.  That was the oldest son.  There were two younger boys, pampered by the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.  Blonde and petite with a southern drawl, she looked down her nose at men like me.  I was nothing but a simple ranch hand, a transient, not the owner of a big spread like Cartwright.”

“That don’t mean—”

“Shut up, Coons, or I’ll stick you in the box for mouthing off to a superior.”  

Their bickering ended, but I got the gist of the story.  There was nothing wrong with my ears.  Simpler hated everything about me and my family.  My life in this hell hole would never improve.  If anything, things could get a helluva lot worse.

Chapter 14:  Ben

“He’s where?”

“Me and Adam ain’t fooling, Pa.  Roy hauled him right down to the jail and locked him behind bars.  He’s contacting Judge Mahoney, and he’ll let us know when to expect him.”

“You mean Mort robbed his own bank?”

“That’s right, Pa.  Adam hammered him ‘til he broke down in tears.  That’s when I left to get the sheriff, but it was all Adam.”  With pride in his eyes, my son clapped his older brother’s shoulder.  “He done it all by hisself.  He’s the dang smartest guy I know.”

I winked at my eldest son.  “You’re absolutely right, Hoss.  I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Adam rolled his eyes.  He never learned to accept compliments with grace.  I was proud of him, though, proud of all my sons, but this was Adam’s night, and the miracle I’d been praying for seemed closer at hand.

Roy paid us a visit the following morning.  Hoss had met him in the yard, and they walked inside together.  “Cup of coffee, Roy?”

“Think I will, Ben.”

Adam bounded down the stairs as though he were ten years younger, and the four of us sat at the dining room table.  “Is the judge on his way?”  

“Not yet.  He has a trial beginning tomorrow but said he’ll mark his calendar and come as soon as possible.”

My heart raced, and I worried my hands until I realized how silly I was being.  I expected Little Joe would be home by the end of the week, but that was wishful thinking.  Like I’d always warned my sons, don’t count your chickens …  and that’s just what I’d done.  I wanted my boy home, under my roof is where he belonged, not in the state prison.  

“I want to go see Joe.”

“Pa … ”

Adam’s furrowed brow irritated me.  “What?”

“Let me go instead.”

“Just because you’ve been playacting for the last couple of weeks doesn’t mean you should go, and I should stay home.”

“I don’t mean any disrespect, but I know Joe.”

“Better than I?”

“Let me finish, Pa.  I know how he feels.  He’s embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?  Why pray tell?”

“We all know that, but he feels if he hadn’t sat down at that poker table none of this would’ve happened.  Even Joe feels like there’s a connection, but he’s never suspected Mort.  I’d like to give him the good news myself.  Are you okay with that?”

I stood and turned my back to the men in the room.  Did Adam know best?  Was I nothing but a jealous old man?  How had it come to this?  How had life become so complicated?  For what it’s worth, I gave in to my son’s wishes.  He would go to the prison in my stead and report back to me.

Chapter 15:  Adam

I dressed in my finest attire and adjusted the little black derby square on my head.  It didn’t take much to transform from Adam Cartwright to Addison Carter.  So far, no one had been the wiser.  Hopefully, this would be my last visit before we all rode down to bring Joe home.  With the holidays drawing near, I wanted to hurry along the process.

After making it through the front gate, I was escorted to the warden’s office, and I was halfway there.  A walk to the conference room and I could tell Joe the good news.

“Good morning, Mr. Carter.”

In friendly greeting, I offered my hand.  “Warden.”  I didn’t know how long Curry had been in Nevada, but he still carried a New York accent when he spoke.  It reminded me of my college days, but I was getting off track.  I had a job to do.  “I’ve come to see my client.  I hope he’s recovered and ready to meet with me.”

“Let’s see what we can do.  That young man can’t seem to follow the rules.  He’s been punished more than any first-time inmate I’ve ever known.”

“I’m confused by that, Warden.  What exactly has this young fella done?”

“According to Able Simpler, the guard on Cartwright’s wing, he’s rebellious, defiant, disruptive.  The list goes on and on.  The young man can’t seem to take instruction without mouthing off and causing problems.  We can’t have unruly inmates in a place like this or all hell would break out.”  

“I understand what you’re saying about having trouble behind these walls, but it’s hard for me to believe that young Cartwright is that much of a troublemaker.”

“I assure you, Mr. Carter.  The boy is an annoyance.  The sooner he settles down and learns to obey the rules, the better off he’ll be.”

“May I see him now?”

As Rudy escorted me to the conference room, a tall, heavyset man passed us in the narrow corridor, but when I glanced at him, something hit me.  An ancient memory, but who and when?  Why would I know a prison guard?  To the best of my knowledge, I didn’t know anyone of the kind, and I let the matter drop.  I had other things on my mind and figuring out strangers wasn’t on my list.

This time, Joe was waiting at one of the wooden tables.  Though his wrists and ankles were chained, he smiled when he saw me enter the room.  I sat down across from him and reached for both fisted hands.  “Good to see you.”

“Same here, broth—Mr. Lawyer.”

I smiled at Joe’s mistake but there was no one around to hear his blunder.  Too many of those and we’d both be behind bars.  “You doing okay?”

“I’m alive.”

“I was here the other day, but you were having an attitude adjustment.

“Is that what it’s called?  If so, I’ve spent half my time adjusting my attitude.”

My brow creased at that remark.  “What?”

“Ask Simpler.  He’ll tell you what a rotten character I am.”

“Who?”

“The guard that has it out for me.”

“Did you say Simpler?”

“Yeah.  What about him?”

“Nothing.  The name sounded familiar.  That’s all.” 

“It should.  He used to work for Pa.”

“Simpler.  Able Simpler.”

“Yep.  That’s him.”

After Joe’s admission, I knew exactly who the man was, and my mind drifted back fifteen, maybe twenty years. The Ponderosa was a lot smaller then.  Hoss did a heap of chores for a youngster his age, but Joe was just a baby, still wearing a dress and keeping his mother busy, but something … something happened one day and my father and Marie … I never could make things out, but there’d been trouble that was never talked about again.   

“Hey.  You’re a thousand miles away, Mr. Lawyer.”

“Sorry, Joe.”  I’d worry about Simpler later.  “I came for a reason, and I think you’ll like what I have to say.”

“Oh yeah?  Something worthwhile this time?”

“Definitely.  It’s only a matter of time before the judge changes the verdict to not guilty.”

“Yeah right.  Maybe you see a fairytale with a happy ending, but I don’t.”

“What if I told you Mort Wilson was behind bars.”

“I’d say your fairytale sounded stranger than fiction.”

“Believe me, Joe.  The happy little banker confessed to everything.  With help from Johnny Oldman, Wilson was able to rob his own bank and blame it on you.”

Joe stared at me like I had two heads.  His mouth moved slightly as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite form the words.

“Wilson is courting a young lady and stepping over the line like that changes a man, can bring him to his knees before he has any idea what went wrong.  After a lifetime of living as a law-abiding citizen, he gives in to the pleasures of life.  His marriage is ruined, and he needs to please a young lady who knows everything about him.  She can demand the world, and he hands it to her on a silver platter.  

“As soon as he crossed that line, his life was ruined.  Wilson will trade places with you, and he’ll be the one who spends the next ten years in prison.  It’s not a fairytale or fiction, Joe.  It’s real.” 

“My, God.”

“We should have you home in a week.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

My brother’s eyes were glassy, but he held his emotions in check.  “May I make a suggestion?”

“Anything.”

“Stay away from Simpler.”  I thought Joe would laugh.  Instead, I saw a young man who feared an older, larger man.  “Joe?”

“Um, yeah.  I’ll do that.”

“Make sure you do.  We can’t have anything get in the way of your release.  Understood?”

“Yeah.  Understood.”

“I better go.  We don’t need anyone to catch on to our scheme now.”

“Sure.  When will I see you again?”

“As soon as the judge hears Wilson’s confession, we’ll all come down to ride home with you.  Sound good?”

“You bet it does.”

I smiled and reached for my brother’s hand.  There was bruising on top of bruising, and he flinched as we shook hands.  God willing, he’d still be alive when we returned to take him home.

Chapter 16:  Joe

If Carl returned me to my cell without detours, I’d be grateful, but that had been wishful thinking.  Simpler stood outside the conference room and waited for Adam to leave.  By the time he thought I’d sat long enough, he popped his head inside. 

“Have a nice chat with your brother?”

“My what?  Guess again, Simpler.”

“I don’t guess at anything, Joe Cartwright.”

The guard grabbed the chain between my wrists and yanked me forward.  “What’s your brother doing parading around like a lawyer?”

There was no sense in lying.  Simpler recognized Adam.  How could he remember that long ago?  The Cartwright name was one thing, but to know my brother scared me.  “He came to tell me something.”

“I’m not stupid, Cartwright.  What did he have to say?”

“He told me to stay out of trouble.”

He yanked the chain again.  “What else?”

“Nothing.  He came to make sure I was okay.”

“You’re lying, Cartwright.  Let’s see if another trip to the box will jog your memory.”

“Not again, Simpler.  I’m done with the box.”

“You’re what?”  Simpler laughed.  He thought I was kidding, but I was serious.  He’d thrown me in that hellhole at least once a week since day one, and I wasn’t going inside again.  Not without a fight.  He didn’t think I was a fighter.  I’d never argued or fought with him before, but I wasn’t going back.  Last time, he hogtied me and left me alone for two days.  No food.  No water.  An animal gets treated better than an inmate named Cartwright.

When Simpler turned the lock in my handcuffs, I figured I’d won the battle, but I’d never been so wrong before.  He pulled my arms behind my back and cuffed me again.  Freedom was never the plan.

I couldn’t fight.  I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop the march to the box.  “How do you know my brother?”

Another hearty laugh.  “Snotnosed kid on a fancy horse.  That’s how I know your brother.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to understand.”

“Then let me go.”

“Sorry, kid.”  He pushed me from behind, hard enough that I lost my balance and landed on my left shoulder.  “Get up, Boy.  I got plans for you.” I rolled onto my knees, but he kicked me, and I landed flat on my belly in the dirt.  “I told you to get on your feet, Boy.” 

I didn’t know how long we’d play the game.  Sometimes it went on forever.  Sometimes not.  When I rolled to my knees a second time, I waited for his boot to connect with my ribs, but it never happened.  Instead, he waited until I stood on both feet to punch me in the stomach and send a left hook to my jaw.  Again, I lay in the dirt, and again I got to my feet.

He unlocked the door and shoved me inside.  I could already feel the heat, and it was only noon.  By three, it would be nearly unbearable, and by ten o’clock tonight, I’d be freezing.

Simpler was a heathen.  To cuff a man’s wrists and beat the crap out of him wasn’t the mark of a decent fighter.  On his own terms, he could win the game and feel like a big man, but he was scum, the worst kind of scum on the planet.   

When he climbed on top of the box, he knocked three times to get my attention.  “Stand up, Cartwright.”  

I didn’t move.  I lay on the dirt floor curled into myself and stared at the metal wall two feet away.  At the top of the box were bars across a footlong opening that let fresh air inside.  It also let in rain or snow, but both were rare this time of year.  “Stand up before I come in and bash your skinny ass.”

I pushed up from the floor.  

“Grab the bars.”

I looked up at Simpler.

“Do you need persuading?”

As I reached for the metal bars, the muscles in my left shoulder screamed in protest, and when he snagged my left wrist and pulled my hand through to the outside, I nearly cried out.  The bars were burning hot and after removing the cuff, he looped it over the center bar and secured the metal manacle back on my wrist.  Like a side of beef, I hung, my toes barely touching the ground.

“Have a nice day, Cartwright.”

The man was insane.  He had no right, but I had fewer rights than anyone.  I couldn’t demand to be heard.  I couldn’t demand to be released.  Since day one, I’d been at the mercy of Amos Simpler, but I was the only inmate he couldn’t stand the sight of.  He had a vendetta against my father, but what could’ve happened to turn a man into such a beast?  

It didn’t take long before both arms ached, and my wrists were raw.  Of course, my wrists hadn’t totally recovered from the Billy Club, and when both legs began to cramp, I’d be in real trouble.  Adam’s good news wasn’t helping me pass the time.  The pain had become too great.

Simpler knew what he was doing.  I’m guessing he’d broken men before, but his crusade to break me had the effect he wanted.  I’d be worthless when I came out of the box, and he’d send me down to the quarry.  I wouldn’t be able to do the work, and I’d be back in the box.  Dying was easy.  Staying alive took everything a man had inside him.

Chapter 17:  Adam

The three of us rode into town for the new trial.  Roy had sent word that the hearing would begin Monday at one o’clock.  We rode in early, had lunch at the International, and were seated in Roy’s office by 12:45.  A day like this only happened once in a lifetime.  Joe’s life depended on Judge Mahoney and a new verdict.  I’d always believed he was an honest man, a fair judge, and I hoped I wasn’t wrong.

I spoke to Pa about Simpler, and though my memory was vague, Pa’s was not.  Every detail of that day was rooted deep in his mind and was never going away.  That didn’t mean he was ready to talk, and I wasn’t ready to push. 

Pa asked how I remembered a man from so long ago, and I felt a lie was deserved this time.  I didn’t want him to know a man like Simpler was anywhere near Little Joe.  He was upset enough without having to deal with ancient memories.

Mort Wilson sat in front of the Judge.  He hung his head in shame and told the whole rotten story.  Mort and my father had been friends for more than ten years.  He and his wife, Marion, had been to our house for supper, and on Christmas Eve when Pa read from the bible.  The man had sunk so low, he was ready to confess everything.

“It all started when Miss Millicent McCarthy walked into my bank and asked for a loan.  I couldn’t grant her a loan without collateral, so I took her to lunch to soften the blow.  I won’t go into detail, but my expenses became overwhelming.  She was a very demanding woman.  I didn’t know for weeks that I was being played, that the woman was a fake, and that her name wasn’t even Milly.  I bought her jewelry and fancy knickknacks, and when I knew it was time to call it off, the woman I thought I loved hit me with a substantial blackmail scheme that would leave me penniless.

“I needed money, and that’s where Johnny Oldman came in.  I heard he was a small-time crook and was always looking for extra cash.   That’s when the poker game was set up so he could hook some poor soul … I never knew it would be Little Joe.”  Mort hung his head, recovered, and continued his story.  “I had to frame your son, Ben.  He lost two thousand dollars to Johnny, your money.  It worked out better than we’d planned.  I could pay off Milly and send her on her way, but Johnny wasn’t satisfied with the amount I paid him.  He demanded a daily stipend.  Not only was I blackmailed once, but twice. I’m guilty as sin, Judge.  Joe Cartwright never stepped foot in the bank.  It was all a blatant lie.”

Mort turned toward my father.  “I’m sorry, Ben.  I had no right to frame your son.  But, in all honesty, I never thought they’d send a Cartwright to prison.  I thought that somehow things would work out and Joe would go home that day.  I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.”

In time, Pa might find it in his heart but today wasn’t the day.

We all listened to Judge Mahoney turn the tables.  Wilson would spend the next ten years in prison, but he would spend the next few days in Roy’s jail.  Johnny Oldman wasn’t getting off scot-free, and Mort would have to confirm his guilt during a second hearing.

“Ben, your son is free.  I will telegraph the prison today, and I’ll send a letter of confirmation for Warden Curry with you and your sons.  I assume you’ll be riding down this afternoon.”

“Yes, Sir.  As soon as we’re done here, Your Honor.”

“Good.  Tell your boy I’m sorry things went as they did.  Like everyone else, I was fooled into thinking he was the guilty party.”

“Not everyone, Judge.”  Pa liked to have the last word.  

The judge handed Pa the most important letter he ever put in his vest pocket.  We brought Cochise with us, and Hoss would take his rein without complaint.  He would’ve led that horse all the way to Boston if that’s what it took to bring Joe home.  

There wasn’t much chatter on the ride down.  Pa was almost giddy inside.  He’d have all his sons under one roof by day’s end, and that’s what mattered most.  I packed a clean shirt and a pair of trousers for Joe just in case.  Hoss brought some of Hop Sing’s gingerbread cake—Little Joe’s favorite.  None of us knew how things worked, but we were prepared for anything that was thrown at us.

As we pulled up to the gate, I remembered the last time I was here, but things had changed since then.  I shaved my beard and shelved the derby.  Addison Carter was needed no more.  I was anxious to take back my role as the older brother.  That suited me just fine.  

After Pa showed the guard the letter, we were able to ride through the front gate and tie our mounts near the warden’s office.  Being familiar, I led the way.  Rudy stood outside Curry’s office.  He gave me an odd look, and that’s when I decided to keep my mouth shut and let Pa do all the talking.

“We have reason to see the warden.”  

Rudy crossed his arms over his puffed-out chest.  “What would that reason be?”

Pa didn’t suffer fools gladly.  He pushed past Rudy and into the warden’s office.  Hoss and I tried to follow, but Rudy had other plans.

Curry stood from behind his desk.  “What’s this all about?”

“This,” Pa said.  He slapped the judge’s letter on Curry’s desk.  “I want my boy now.”

“Let those men in and wait for us outside, Rudy.  Oh, and send Carl for the Cartwright boy.”  Hoss and I stepped inside the office and flanked our father.  “This is quite a surprise.  Something like this doesn’t happen often.”

“My son’s a law-abiding citizen.  An injustice has been made here, Warden, but I’m willing to take my boy home and forget this ever happened.”

“That’s gracious of you, Mr. Cartwright.  Not everyone would feel that way, but it’s the judge that put your son in my prison.   I’m nothing more than a steward for the state.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“If you want to take a seat, I’ll see what’s taking Carl so long.”

“Thank you.”

Hoss scrubbed his hands together just as he does when his favorite meal is set in front of him.  “Just a few more minutes, Pa.”

“I know.  I just … I don’t know.”

“Something wrong?

“No, Adam.  Of course not.”

“You don’t seem sure.”

“It’s nothing.”

Ten minutes passed, then twenty.  At a half-hour, my father was livid.

Chapter 18:  Ben

A crescent moon appeared through the small, barred window.  The day was nearly at an end and watching my boy sleep in his own bed wasn’t going to happen.  I asked my sons to go eat supper and book a hotel room for the night.  Both argued and said they weren’t leaving Joe and me alone, but I was their father.  I still gave the orders.

“It’s not a suggestion.  I want you to go.  Relax.  You’ll need a place to stay.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll stay here tonight.  Go on, now.”

“Ain’t you even gonna eat, Pa?”

“Go, Hoss.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After they left, I couldn’t sit in the waiting room for another minute, and I walked into the infirmary.  Dr. Aaron Stern and his nurse had worked on Joe most of the afternoon.  Besides being dehydrated, both shoulders had been dislocated from hanging too many hours inside a sweat box.  The doctor had set them back in place and had taped Joe’s arms to his chest so there’d be no unnecessary movement.

When the doctor first explained his findings, I didn’t understand.  He had to take me step by step through my son’s ordeal before I could grasp what had been done.  I still didn’t know why Joe had been singled out, but I wouldn’t leave the facility until I understood everything I needed to know about Joe’s tormenter.

As I ran the back of my fingers down my boy’s cheek, he began to stir.  Though he was full of laudanum, it had been hours since he was last dosed.  I wanted to see my son’s eyes, see how much life was left in a boy who was so full of energy and aspirations for his future.  A man could be dead inside, and I prayed Joe had kept us all in his heart and knew we’d never let him stay in this ugly place a minute longer than necessary.  The eyes never lied, especially Little Joe’s.  

“Pa …”

“It’s me, Son.”

“Why?  Why are you here?”

“To take you home.”

“Home?”

“Mr. Wilson confessed.”

“What?”

“He confessed to the bank robbery.  He’ll take your place in prison.”

“Prison?”

“Joe, what’s wrong?  What’s the matter?”

Unexpected footsteps caught my attention, and I turned and looked behind me.  “Doctor.  Something’s wrong here.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you with my patient, Mr. Cartwright.”

“This is my son, and the door wasn’t locked.  Why wouldn’t I be here?”

The doctor crossed the room.  I hoped my patient would be resting.”  

“He just woke, but he seems terribly confused.”

“How?”

“He doesn’t know where he is.”

“Mmm … interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“It happens sometimes.”  

“Explain to me how this type of forgetfulness might happen.”

“Sit down, Mr. Cartwright.”

Joe had fallen back to sleep; at least, his eyes were closed, and he wasn’t responding to my touch.  I took a seat in the only chair in the cold, gray room.  “What’s wrong with my son?”

“This might be difficult to hear.”

“Go on.”

“When a man is put through … when a man is constantly brutalized, his mind begins to shut down.  His only thoughts are trying to block out the pain.  Sometimes, the memory of past events become cloudy or vanish completely.  Vanishing completely can be a godsend, Mr. Cartwright.”

I sat forward in my chair and dangled my hat between my knees.  “Why was my son tortured?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who gave the orders?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do I find out.”

“The warden.  He should have the answers.”

“I appreciate what you’ve done for Joseph.”

“I assure you.  I did my best.”

I stared long and hard at the doctor.  I hadn’t really seen him before now.  With thinning hair and wire-rimmed glasses, he looked the part of a studious man.  How he ended up in a place like this was difficult to understand.  

“Thank you for saving my son.”

“My pleasure.”

I settled my hat and walked out of the infirmary.  Joe would sleep a while, which gave me time to visit the warden.  The corridor was long and dreary.  Windows that nearly touched the ceiling didn’t let in much light or room for escape.  Lanterns would soon be lit.  It was late afternoon when day eased into night.  Marie would call it the gloaming.  I cherished that special time in my life and my wife’s poetic vocabulary that most men found insignificant.

The warden stood when I barged into his office for the second time that day.  The sooner all was said and done, the sooner I could take Joseph home.  “Who tortured my son?”

“Sit down, Mr. Cartwright.”  I removed my hat and did as he asked.  “If you promise to stay calm, I’ll tell you everything.”

“I’m calm.  I won’t go charging out of this office in search of the man.”

“A man named Simpler, Able Simpler.”

The warden saw me grimace.  Adam knew all about Simpler, but he didn’t want me to worry.  It was just like him to keep that information to himself.  He knew how I’d react, and we couldn’t take a chance of ruining Joe’s homecoming, but my son didn’t know how far that man would go to hurt our family.  I didn’t blame my eldest, only Simpler.

“Where is he now?”

“I’ve had him detained.”

“Will he stand trial?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“My son and I will be there.”  I stood to leave.  “I’ll stay with Joseph tonight, and we’ll leave this place in the morning.”

“I figured as much.  I had a man stable your horse.”

“Thank you.”

Chapter 19:  Joe

Climbing the trail up the mountain was tougher than I thought possible.  I had no hands, no arms.  Having my shoulders reset was one thing but trying to keep steady on Cochise was a test of my riding skills.  Pa wanted to rent a wagon, but I wasn’t an invalid.  I just had an issue with balance.  My legs might be shot by the time we arrived, and maybe they’d have to carry me into the house, but I’d been carried before.  Anything but returning home in the back of a wagon suited me fine.

It seemed like just days ago I sat in front of a judge in a courtroom, but the last few weeks were foggy.  God knows I can’t talk about it with my family.  They’d think I’d gone half loony, but there are missing pieces of my life.   I brainstorm, but my mind won’t cooperate.  I’d been hurt.  That was obvious, but I couldn’t remember how it happened or why, or when I busted up my shoulders.  By morning, after a good night’s rest, I was sure everything would fall into place.  I just needed sleep.  Pa would agree with me this time.  He often said sleep was a cure-all for life’s existing problems.

I fell asleep in the saddle.  Swaying uneasy-like had distanced my mind from my body.  My whole being had become detached and taken me to a place where pain was constant.  To a place where I had no voice, no power, no strength to pull away, and no gun on my hip.  A spineless worm.  No guts.  No reaction.  What kind of man lets another take advantage?  Who was I?  

Men stirred about me, grabbing, shaking, shouting.   “Joseph!”  I struggled to get away. I wasn’t a worm, and I fought those who tried to wrestle me to the ground, but there were too many hands.  The battle was lost.  My boots hit the ground, and I dug my heels into the soft earth.  

“Joseph!”

My wrists were cuffed, my hands were swollen, and I needed Pa to take me home, but Pa wasn’t in charge.  Pa was far, far away with my brothers, not in this hellhole where men are paid to torture and maim.  It wasn’t a dream.  Everything was real and I tried to figure out why.  How had I come to this place of torment?  When had I become a spineless worm?

“Joseph.”

A gentle breeze fluttered through white, lace curtains.  The bedside lamp had been turned low and when my eyes began to focus, I became mesmerized by eerie shadows that danced in odd rhythms across faraway walls.  I heard my name being called, but I didn’t want to go there.  I didn’t want to be hurt again.

“Little Joe?”

“Pa?”

“Do you need a drink, Son?”

Where did my father come from?  Did he hear me calling his name?  “What happened?”  How did I get here?  “I don’t understand.”  

“Your brothers and I brought you home yesterday.  Do you remember riding Cochise?”

“Yeah.  Hard to stay in the saddle.”

“Do you remember falling?”

“Off my horse?”

“I’m afraid so, Son.

Pa poured a glass of water, but when I tried to sit up, I couldn’t move anything but my legs and my lips.  I was strapped up as tight as a mummy.

“Hang on.  I’ll help you.”

Pa sat the glass on the table and pulled me to a seated position then propped four pillows behind me.  This was a job for Hoss.  I was totally useless, but Pa did a fine job all by himself.  I sat and drank, and I was home.  That’s all that really mattered.

“You were dreaming, Son.  Do you remember anything about the last few days?”

I thought about what he said, but I was blank.  “Not really.  I’m glad to be home, though.”

“It’s good to have you home, Joseph.”  

“I’m sure Adam and Hoss are tired of doing my chores.”

“Joseph.  There’s more to family than chores.”

“I know, but I still can’t do my share.”

“You worry about getting well.  That’s all I ask.”

I tried to sit up taller, but that was a waste of time.  “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, you can.”  Pa scooted his chair closer to the bed and clasped his hands.  “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m missing time.  I mean, I’m missing days.  I remember sitting in front of the judge in Roy’s office, but after that, everything is … it’s, I don’t know what to call it, Pa, but I only remember weird things and it doesn’t make much sense.”

“What do you remember, Son?”

“I don’t know.  I remember taking a shower, and the water was ice cold.  Two other men shivered with me.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s where my memory falls apart.  I don’t know how to say it, but it’s like I put my life on hold.  Kind of like a dream that wouldn’t let me wake up until it was time to move on.  It doesn’t make sense.  I know that and wonder if I’ve lost my mind.  It’s like the real Joe went away, and I stepped in as his substitute.  But then I feel like I’m here, and this is now, and you’re my pa, and this is my home.  I know it doesn’t make sense but that’s how I see things.  Help me, Pa.  I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You’re home now, and nothing else matters.  You need to sleep.  Rest will help, Joe.  Let your mind rest and everything should fall into place.”

Pa stood as though he were planning to leave, but I wasn’t finished.  I still had questions and he’d provided no answers.  “I’m all taped up.  I didn’t get this way by accident.”

“You’re right.”

“You know what happened, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Adam and Hoss?”

“Yes.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Not if I didn’t have to.”  I tried to turn, tried to face my father but damn if I could move.  Nothing was more frustrating than being swathed in a mountain of bandages.  “Sit still, Son.  “I’ll explain.

“Why don’t I remember?”

“The doctor told me that happens sometimes.”

“What do you mean … sometimes?”

“One of the guards at the prison singled you out and—”

“Prison?”

“Oh, Joe.  You really don’t remember?”

“Why, Pa?  What happened to me?”

“It’s a long story, Son, and in time, I think you’ll remember every detail, but for now, let’s concentrate on getting well.”

“At least tell me why my arms are taped to my stomach.  Tell me that much, will you?”   

“No interruptions?  You’ll let me tell the story straight out?”

“Yessir.”

“A man named Amos Simpler treated you worse than he should have and, as a consolation, your mind has shut down to the trauma he put you through.

“One source of punishment was an iron box in the center of the courtyard.  A man is sent there for what’s called an attitude adjustment.  You were there more often and longer than any other inmate.”

“But why—”

“Quiet Joseph.”

“The warden was unaware of how severe the punishments were, but he knows everything now and has put Amos Simpler behind bars until you’re well enough to sit through his trial.”  When I opened my mouth again, Pa held up his hand to shut me up.  “You, Tommy Lee, Adam, the doctor, and anyone else we can find will all testify to the torture he put you through.

“In good conscience, that’s all I can say.  I want you to lay back and rest.  We’ll talk more tomorrow and the next day and the next until everything is out in the open, but I want you to try and remember.  Because you’ll be testifying in front of a judge and jury, I can’t say any more.  Do you understand?”

“Yeah, but isn’t it my word against his?”

“Yes, but we have lots of people on our side, Son, and they’re all ready to tell what they saw.”

“I guess that’s okay.”

“Get some sleep now.”

“Yessir.”

Epilogue:  Ben

I remember that day in the barn as though it were yesterday.  After nearly twenty years, every time I think of Able Simpler, blood races through me as if I were back inside that stall with my hands clamped tight around his thick, sweaty neck.  When I found him hovering over my half-naked wife, rage took over and I intended to kill.  That’s when Marie pulled her torn blouse over her bare, white breasts and pushed up from the freshly laid straw.  Tears stained her face as she begged me not to kill her would-be rapist. 

“If not for me, for your boys.”  

Dread set in with Marie’s fiery words.  I’d acted foolhardy and hadn’t thought things through.  I never would have seen my sons grow into manhood.  I would’ve been imprisoned for life or faced the gallows and been hanged by the neck until dead.  A man like Simpler wasn’t worth the sacrifice.

It’s a day that needs to be put away forever, but it’s also a slice of life that came back to haunt our family, especially my youngest son, Joseph.  How could we have known that a man I hired years ago would still be in the territory, much less in charge of my son’s well-being?  I cringe when I think of how things could’ve turned out.

Three days before Thanksgiving, Doc drove out and removed the bandages that held Joe’s shoulders in place.  “Your muscles will be stiff for a while, so take things easy for the next couple of weeks.”

Joseph was so glad to be rid of the wrappings, he didn’t bother arguing over the length of time still needed for a complete recovery.  Paul winked at me, and we left Joe alone in his room to try out his new freedom without two aging spectators.  

I led Paul to the dining room table and poured us each a cup of coffee.  “He’ll be okay?”

“It takes time.  Easy tasks like lifting a coffee cup will be harder than he expects, and that’s when frustration will set in.  Let him blow off a little steam now and then.  It’s only natural.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.  When’s the trial?”

“Warden Curry has Simpler locked in a cell.  I’ve told him why the man went after Joe, and he thinks we have a good case for attempted murder.”

“That’s fine, Ben.  A man like that does nothing but torment others and should be put away forever.”

“That won’t happen but a few years behind bars is better than nothing.”

“You’re right, of course.”  Paul stood, slipped on his coat and hat, and picked up his bag.  His work here was done.  

“Will you join us for Thanksgiving Dinner?”

“Thank you, Ben.  You want to know a secret?”  I lifted my eyebrows in anticipation.   “My wife’s been working on a new potato dish for the last month.  I think she finally got it right, and I’m sure it will accompany us on Thursday.”

I rounded my hand on the good doctor’s shoulder.  “No one in this house has ever objected to a fancy dish of potatoes.”

“Good.  See you then.”

““`

The trial went as planned.  More than enough people testified in front of a circuit judge, but the outcome left us confused. Adam Simpler was charged with attempted murder, a category B felony, which holds a sentence of two to twenty years.  We hoped for the latter, but it would be days before Judge Ellis determined the length of the sentence.  None of us understood the delay, but in time, the warden would discover a connection between a man named Simpler and a judge named Ellis.

““`

As year after year passes, we don’t always realize when miracles happen.  It’s been ten long years since that first Thanksgiving miracle, and I still give thanks for Joe’s return.  When I think of everything that could’ve gone wrong, it was indeed a miracle Joseph was released from prison and was able to spend Thanksgiving Day with friends and family.  If Mort Wilson hadn’t confessed to robbing his own bank, or if Simpler had left Joe in the box one more day, we wouldn’t have been celebrating his homecoming at all.

During the Thanksgiving holiday a year later, we heard from Warden Curry.  It seems that Simpler and Judge Ellis had a history.  Though the judge should’ve recused himself, he sentenced the guard to twenty years in the Nevada State Prison.  Rumor was that Simpler had forced himself on the judge’s sister when they were just youngsters in school.  Doc was right.  The man would never change.

My son, Adam, found a new life away from the Ponderosa and, as though I needed reassurance, Joe and Hoss promised they’d never leave me behind.  They promised to stay by my side until the almighty called me home.  Along with my two youngest, a new man has joined our table for holiday dinners.  His name is Candy.  Though he is reluctant to make a commitment, he’s become our foreman but most of all, he’s become our friend.

This Thanksgiving, we mark the ten-year anniversary of Joe’s incarceration.  Had things gone as initially planned and had he lived through Simpler’s punishments, my son would’ve just been released from prison.  It’s hard to imagine losing ten years of Joe’s life over a crime he never committed.  

Although I’ve lost my eldest son to his many travels, it’s not the same as losing a boy the way we nearly lost Joseph.  Marion Wilson wasn’t as lucky.  Mort didn’t last any time at all behind bars.  The trauma of living like an animal was too much for a fair-minded banker, and he died before the first year was out.

Even though Joe has become my right-hand man, I still sit at the head of the table, and I still give the Thanksgiving blessing.  I bless all the riches we’ve been given.  I bless my three sons, the man who calls himself Candy, and friends that have graced our table for more years than I can count.

I give thanks to all those who have come and gone, people who have crossed our path in one way or another.  It’s not my job to single out the good from the bad.  I’ll leave that to a higher power and enjoy the simple miracles life has to offer.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2022

by jfclover

Chapter 1

Summer – 1860

“What’s this?”  I asked my eldest brother after he’d entered my room and handed me a leather-bound book.

“A journal,” Adam replied, handing the curious gift to me.

Adam stood next to my bed as I examined, front and back, the tan-colored, leather-bound book.  Inside, the crisp, white pages were blank. “I don’t understand.”

“Well,” Adam said as he pulled a chair up next to the bed.  “I thought maybe it would give you something to do while you’re…out of commission so to speak.”

“You expect me to write in this thing?”

“That’s what I had in mind when I bought it.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about writing.”

“Maybe you’ll learn,” Adam said, leaning back in the chair.  My brother seemed pleased with himself for suggesting I fill in the empty pages.

“What the heck do I write about?”

“That’s up to you.”

“But I’m no writer.  You, maybe, but not me.”

“Joe—” Adam said.  He leaned forward in the chair and rested his elbows on his knees.  “You were born eighteen years ago, which means you have eighteen years’ worth of tales to tell.”

“Yeah?  But who wants to read about my life?”

“A journal is for your eyes only.  No one else will ever read what you’ve chosen to write.”

“Oh,” I said, still not catching on to the actual reason for keeping a journal.  “So why bother?”

Adam shook his head and stood from the chair.  “Do what you want, Joe.  I’ve got work to do.”

Adam was trying to be thoughtful, and I was out of commission, but this was the dumbest gift I’d ever received.  I fanned the blank pages almost laughing at the absurdity of it all.  Me?  Write something profound and meaningful in a journal?  Adam had done nothing but throw his hard-earned money away on a gift like this.

I looked up when someone tapped on my door.  My brother was back.  He walked into my room carrying the silver tray Hop Sing used to serve coffee after dinner and to guests on special occasions plus, a brand new inkwell and pen, now at my disposal.  “I forgot these.  Enjoy.”

I thanked my brother before he slipped back out the bedroom door, but this was nuts.  This was like doing schoolwork, and Adam was the bookworm, not me.  Did he forget how much I hated school?  How I’d begged Pa to let me quit an entire year before he’d even consider my request?  How could Adam forget how I hated all them poems with silly, rhyming words?  Why the heck would I want to sit here and write something no one, including me, would ever read?

So, now what?  What was I s’posed to write about?  I opened the journal to the first page and dipped my pen in the ink.  The tip carrying black ink hovered over the first blank page.

Maybe I’d use this as more of a calendar.  I suppose I could keep track of things that way.  I filled in the first blank page.

~

July 16, 1860

Stuck in bed.

Broke my leg during the cattle drive.

July 17, 1860

Played checkers with Hoss.

July 18, 1860

Earlier today, I’d tried to reach the silver tray I’d set on top of my bedside table.  I fell off the bed.  Cracked my cast.  Pa’s not happy with me right now.  He’s already sent word to the doc to come by at his earliest convenience.

Like every night since I’ve been laid up, I just finished playing checkers with Hoss.  Asked Adam if he’d seen Julie in town.  He said no.

July 19, 1860

It rained all day.

Thinking about Julie.

My leg itches something fierce.  Pa’s been up to my room a dozen times.  He caught me once, trying to ease my hand down the loosened cast.  You can imagine the look on his face.  

When Hoss came up to play checkers I’d said no, not tonight.

Now I’m bored outta my mind.  Should have played checkers with Hoss.

July 20, 3:00 a.m.

It’s three in the morning, and I’m wide awake.

Thinking about the fight I had with Julie.

Sure wish she’d stop by so I could tell her I’m sorry.  Wonder if she even knows I’m back from the drive.  How could she?  Heck, no way she’ll come and visit after hearing the words I’d said in anger.  Man, was she ever mad.

Outta sight outta mind.  Isn’t that the old saying?  I’m out of sight all right and now I’m outta mind.  She’s probably taken up with that idiot, Sam Moody.  He’s always doin’ his best to horn in when I’m not around. Sure hope they’re enjoying each other’s company while I’m stuck in this miserable bed.

9:30 a.m.

Wasn’t hungry this morning.

Pa’s not at all pleased with my behavior, and earlier today he told me so.  My down-in-the-dumps attitude is getting on everyone’s nerves.  It didn’t help matters that I kicked everyone outta my room, except Pa, as soon as they stepped foot through the door.  I was in no mood for food or chit-chat or anything else.

Julie consumes my thoughts.  Julie and the fight we had just before I left on the drive.  It was stupid, really.  She’d accepted a date to the dance with Sam Moody only because I’d said it was okay by me.  I shouldn’t even be upset.  There never should’ve been a fight.

“It’s only a Saturday night dance, Little Joe.  I’m not apt to run off and marry the likes of Sam Moody,” she’d said.  Knowing she was right and I should have nothing to fear, I’d said okay.  I knew how much she loved to dance, and I knew how bored she’d be while I was away on the drive.  Then, when I had time to think things over, I asked her not to go.

The rest is history.  When she said she’d already made plans with Sam and then reminded me it would be rude to cancel at this late date, I lost my temper.  I knew Sam well.  Sam was no gentleman and I told her so.  Before I knew what had happened, she’d turned tail and stomped up the front steps and into her house, slamming the door behind her.

“Fine,” I’d yelled—fool that I was—hoping she could hear me from inside the house.  “Do what you want.  Don’t bother about what I might think.”

~

I had to get out of the room.  I had to see Julie and apologize for being such a fool.  Maybe I could have Hoss bring her out to the ranch.  This is stupid.  Another 2-3 weeks in this cast.  I couldn’t wait that long.  I need to see her and straighten this thing out.

This journal was stupid, too.  I didn’t wait for the ink to dry before I slammed it shut and threw it across the room.  What good did it do to write about things I could do nothing about?  Maybe this whole writing thing was something Adam enjoyed, but not me.  He could sit in his room every night and write in his stupid journal.  I was finished with mine.

I tried to lie back in my bed, but the heavy, plaster cast grabbed awkwardly at my leg, making each minute of my life even worse than the minute before.  I was so tired of lying on my back—so tired of it all.  Doc had said it was a bad break, and he’d debated whether to cast it this soon or not.  I suppose he felt he couldn’t trust me with just a splint.

I turned my head to face the door when I heard a knock.  It was Pa followed by Paul Martin.  Pa gave me one of his looks, let me know I better behave more pleasantly with the doc than I had been with the rest of the family.

“Morning, Joe.”

“Hi, Doc.”

“Sorry it took me so long to get out here.”

I looked down at my leg.  “Yeah.”

“I would have come right out when I got word of Joe’s, should we say unexpected fall, Ben, but I’ve been terribly busy since the accident.”

“The what?”  

Paul glanced at Pa and then back at me.  “You haven’t heard?”

“We’ve been pretty busy around here since we returned from the drive,” Pa said, glancing quickly at me.  “Adam and Hoss rode in to get supplies this morning.  I guess you missed the two of them on your way out.”

“Well, I was out at Amy Hilden’s earlier this morning.  A baby boy.  Mother a son doing well.”

“What’s this about an accident?”  I asked.

“There was an unfortunate accident, Joe, right in front of the hotel. I think you both know Silas.”  Pa and I nodded our heads in unison.  “Well, he was driving the stage, and a group of kids set off a round of firecrackers in the alley, just off of C Street.  The horses spooked, and poor Silas…well, he lost control of the stage.  Three innocent bystanders were struck down in the middle of the street.”

“Anyone we know?”  Pa asked.

“Well, yes there is.  In fact, I think you know the girl, Joe.”

“Me?  Who?”

“Julie Morris.”

Oh, God, no.  “Is she … alive?”

“Yes, but she’s in rather poor shape at the moment, which is why I can’t recast you today.”

I glanced up at my father and back at Paul Martin.  “I need to see her, Doc.”

“Not with this leg you’re not going anywhere.”

Pa cleared his throat.  “Joe and Julie Morris have been seeing each other for a few weeks now, Paul.”

The doctor seemed surprised to hear Pa’s revelation.  “I didn’t know, Son.  I’m sorry.”

“So … how bad … I mean, is she hurt bad?”  When the doc glanced at Pa first, I knew the answer to my question.  “How bad,” I repeated.

“I’m afraid it’s touch and go right now.  Had I known you and she was—”

“Why would that matter, Doc.  You mean you wouldn’t have told me?”

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t have blurted it out as I did.”

“You still haven’t told me what happened to her.”  What the hell did I have to do to get an answer?

Paul pulled the chair up next to me and lowered himself slowly while Pa circled the end of the bed and stood beside me.  He rested his hand on my shoulder.  The doctor leaned forward, rubbing his palms together while I waited as patiently as I could for him to explain.

“Julie Morris is suffering from a head injury, Joe.  It’s serious.  There are broken bones, but they’ll heal in time.  She’s still under my care.  Though her mother has been staying with her during the day, enabling me to make my morning rounds, I need to get back to the office.  Julie needs all of our prayers right now.”

I listened carefully, but I wanted to write down everything the doc had told me.  I wanted to remember every word.  “Pa?  I seemed to have dropped my journal.  Do you mind?”

The little tan book laid catawampus against the far wall.  It was fairly obvious it hadn’t been dropped.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” Pa said.  He bent down and picked up the journal, which now sported a few crumpled pages.  He set it on my tray next to my pen and ink.

“Thanks,” I said, embarrassed by the consequences of my over-zealous temper.

2:30 p.m.

The doctor was here earlier today and before he left, he said he’d be back tomorrow or the next day to replace the cast.  He apologized for not having time to remove it today, but I assured him I was in no hurry to go through the process again besides, Julie was high priority right now.  The crack was large enough that Paul was afraid I’d somehow twist my leg inside the loosened cast, causing further damage.

I had direct orders not to move an inch without help from someone in my family, preferably Hoss.  I had sensed from their ongoing eye contact; the doc wanted to talk to Pa alone.  That was fine with me.  I was more interested in writing down what Paul had said rather than continuing with more questions when obviously, there weren’t many answers.  The only thing I knew, the only thing that really mattered was Julie was lying in a bed at Doc Martin’s, and I wasn’t there with her.

Pa wasted no time coming back to my room after the doctor had left.  He didn’t say anything more to me about Julie’s condition, and whether he was keeping things from me, I couldn’t really tell.

“A head injury,” he’d said.  What did that mean?  A concussion?  I’ve had those before and come through with flying colors.  Was this more serious?

I needed an ally.  Hoss could find out what was really going on and report back to me.  I just had to ask.  My brother never denied me anything.

8:00 p.m.

Earlier this evening, Pa had carried his dinner upstairs and eaten with me in my room.  It was Adam’s turn to sit with me since he and Pa and Hoss rotated nights, but I guess my father assumed I’d want to talk.  What was there to say?  I was stuck here on the Ponderosa and Julie was stuck in town.  End of story.  I’d made things worse by not saying anything at all.  Pa always wanted to talk.  So again, my father wasn’t pleased but at this point, I couldn’t have cared less.  I couldn’t begin to make everyone happy when I was so miserable myself.

11:30 p.m.

Pa and my brothers had stopped in earlier to say goodnight, and now the house was quiet, too quiet, too still.  Too much time to think and worst of all, I’d napped on and off all day, and I was wide awake now.

I could only apologize to Julie in my mind, and I had, over and over, but only to the four walls that surround me.  The stupid fight we’d had on her front porch was entirely my fault.  She’d been right all along, and I’d pushed her too far.  I’d led her to believe I didn’t trust her, and I’d never had the chance to take back the harsh words I’d said in a frustrating moment of anger.

I’d ridden out with Pa and my brothers the following morning, driving a herd of cattle to Sacramento.  And now, nearly a month later … I was such a fool.

How much longer?  How many days before I could apologize face to face?

~

I fell asleep sitting up with my lamp still burning on the table beside me.  It was still a couple of hours till daylight, and for some crazy reason I wanted to write, but all I could think of was Julie?  I inked my pen …

July 21, 4:00 a.m.

Oh, my sweet Julie,

My girl with golden-blonde hair.

With green eyes that sparkle and brighten the day.

I’d be there alongside you,

If only I could get out of this damn bed and ride into town.

~

God forbid anyone would ever get a hold of this journal.  I’d be laughed right out of town if someone read that striking verse.  I couldn’t rhyme anything if I tried.  I suppose it would take a bit more practice before I’d be considered the next Lord Byron.

10:30 a.m.

Hoss stopped in to see me first thing this morning.  I asked if he’d mind riding to town and checking on Julie.  Pa and the doc were trying to spare me the details, but I needed to know everything.  Hoss said he’d go, and he’d find out all he could without making himself a bother.  I’d heard him ride out just after breakfast, although the time spent worrying about what he’d come back, and report was almost more than I could take.

Pa had already been in to see me twice this morning.  He’d offered to play a game of chess, but my mind was too preoccupied to concentrate.  Besides, I hated to lose, and that’s exactly what would happen if I accepted the challenge.  I told him maybe later.  He had bookwork to do and said he’d be glad to bring his paperwork upstairs if I wanted company.  Again, I said no.  I was fine here by myself, waiting for Hoss and writing whatever I felt like in my journal.

~

From this angle, all I could see was the sky out my bedroom window.  I’d been forced to stay in bed for more than a week now, and stir-crazy had become my middle name.  The only thing I could really do was scribble my thoughts by filling in the blank pages, but what was there to write about?  Day after day of sitting in bed didn’t give me much to go on.  I remember Adam saying I had eighteen years of tales to tell, but what tales?  What in my life had ever been important enough to write about?

Do I write about broken bones?  Love interests?  Cattle drives?  My family?  Where do I start?   I hadn’t written much of anything worthwhile.  I started a fresh page.

~

I was born eighteen years ago in my mother and father’s bedroom.  

Is that what I’m supposed to write about?  My entire life story?  I can’t write about things I know nothing about.  I’ve only been told stories about that night. There’s no way I give a firsthand account.  Okay, maybe I should write about my first important memory.  I really don’t want to write about that either.  It’s a sad memory and over the years, everyone in my family has chronicled the day’s events numerous times and in different ways.  I’m not sure what my very own recollections are, or what parts of that day have been explained to fill in the blanks of a young child’s mind, but what I do remember is from that day forward my life changed.  

No longer were there songs at bedtime.  No longer were there afternoon stories and games.  No longer was that sweet smell of lavender when Mama entered a room.  I didn’t understand anything that had happened.

My father went on business trips all the time, leaving my brothers and me at home in the care of Mama and Hop Sing.  So, being a child, and having the intellect of a child, I honestly thought Mama was on a trip, and when she returned we’d play games and sing songs as we’d always done before.  But Mama didn’t return.  I remember pulling my chair up close to my bedroom window and staring out into the yard, waiting for her to come home.  Days and eventually weeks passed, but she never came.

At first, I was mad.  Why would Mama leave on a trip and not take me with her, especially if she was going to be gone for so long?  Pa always came back from his trips.  He’d always promised me he would, and Pa never broke a promise to anyone.  With my five-year-old mind racing in every direction, I thought maybe she and Pa’d had a fight, and maybe she’d run away from home. (My father has a temper.)  It wasn’t long before I blamed Pa for the unthinkable.  He’d made Mama run away and leave Adam and Hoss and me behind.

Once I’d sorted that all out in my head, I went up to my room and packed my bag.  I stripped off my pillowcase and stuffed it full of my favorite things, none of which would have done me a bit of good on a trip like I’d planned to take.  I had no food or clothes, but I had what seemed important at the time.

I was leaving home to find my mama.  I knew her favorite place by the lake.  We’d gone there together several times, just the two of us.  I’d sit on her lap, and she’d tell me stories of a place she used to live before she’d met Pa. At the time, I didn’t know where that place was or how far away, but I told her we would go there when I got big like Adam and Hoss.  Just Mama and me on an adventure of our very own where we could do anything we wanted, and no one could tell us differently.

Before I was completely packed and out the back door, my father had come upstairs to check on me.  He asked if I was planning on going somewhere.  I told him I was gonna go find Mama and bring her back home.  He asked if he could come along.  I said I was big enough to take care of myself and besides, I was the one who knew where she would be hiding.

I didn’t mention that last part to my father, thinking he was the reason she’d left, but as soon as I found her, I would tell her we all missed her, and we needed her here with us.  I would bring her back with me so everything would be the way it used to be before she ran away.

“See, it’s this way, Papa.  Mama’s just on a trip, but it’s time for her to come home now.  We miss her don’t we, Papa?”  Tears filled my father’s eyes.  He told me he missed her very much.

I don’t remember much else except for Pa sitting down on my bed and holding me on his lap.  Pa cried real tears, just like he had the day Mama left, but I assured him I wouldn’t come back without her.  When his tears stopped, he said he had something to show me.  If I was willing to stay the night here, the two of us would ride out together the next morning.  Reluctantly, I agreed to the plan.  

My father saddled Buck and he let me ride with him in the saddle just like Mama used to do.  We rode up to the lake, to the same spot I’d planned to go before Pa interrupted my packing.  There was a big gray stone I didn’t remember being there before.

Pa tried to explain why the stone was there, and then he read the inscription out loud.  That day ended my dreams of Mama ever coming back to me.  I realized there was no trip after all.  There was only sadness and tears.

1:00 p.m.

Hoss brought my lunch up to my room when he returned from town.  He apologized for not having much to report.  “She sleeps all day.  Her ma and the doc were both with her.  Her ma’s really takin’ this hard, Little Joe.”  Hoss continued by assuring me he’d told Mrs. Morris I was laid up with a busted leg or I’d a been there in a heartbeat, but he said the doc had already mentioned my casted leg to her before he got there.

Hoss is a good brother.  Hoss has always been a good brother.  He didn’t get any new information, but he’d done his best.  He left my room after we’d finished lunch and went back to work with Adam.  I won’t see either of them again until suppertime.  It’s just me and my journal, and time for another tale.  Like Adam, I’m starting to get the hang of this, and I’ve got another story to write.  

~

I dipped my pen and started a fresh page.

~

Last year was my first cattle drive, and it was Hoss who took it upon himself to show me the ropes.  If I rode drag; Hoss rode drag.  He wasn’t about to let me go off on my own and risk getting injured somehow.   If I had second watch, which was the middle of the night and the worst shift of all, Hoss never made me do it alone.   He made sure I stayed awake by telling me story after story until the dreaded three hours were over.   I never asked him to do any of those things.  That’s just the kind of guy he is.

There were times I wanted to be on my own—times I wanted to prove myself to the other men on the drive—and Hoss understood that too.  He backed off, some, but still, he kept a close watch.  With Hoss never more than a frog’s hair away, I listened, and I learned, and by the end of three weeks, he told me he was proud of me.  He told me I was as good as any of the seasoned men on the drive.

When I busted my leg after the cattle were spooked by a sudden flash of lightning during my nighttime watch, Hoss was the first one to find me and kneel beside me.  Cattle had scattered in all directions, and when one slammed hard into Cochise, frightening him something awful, I’d fallen, and thankfully, far enough away from the advancing herd not to be trampled to death.

The cattle meant nothing to Hoss if I was hurt.  (My brother missed his calling.  He should have been a doctor.)  He knew how much pain I was in, and as gently as possible, he straightened my leg, adjusting the bone back in place before anyone else even knew I was down.

My cries, which I kept to a minimum for my brother’s sake, were also muffled by the sound of cattle bawling and panicked and still racing out of control.  Right then and there, Hoss removed his own shirt and ripped it into strips so he could wrap the wound and keep as much dust and debris out as possible.  Like the doc said initially, it was a bad break—the bone broke through the skin—and as Paul explained to me soon after he’d finished the cast, Hoss not only saved my leg but my life.

~

When we were just kids, although I don’t remember Hoss ever being a kid at least not a little one, he’s been my protector.  When I was in school fights, and eventually saloon brawls, he was always there watching my back.  I remember the first time Johnny Buchman, a kid who was a couple of years older than I, and outweighed me by twenty or thirty pounds, tried to pound me out in the schoolyard.  Johnny would have nailed me good if Hoss hadn’t stepped in and put an end to the fight.

When school let out, Hoss and I rode home together, and when we’d walked through the front door late that afternoon, I was forced to tell my father what had happened.  I couldn’t believe my ears when the first thing Pa did was scold Hoss for interfering.  If I chose to fight, which Pa didn’t condone at all, but if there was no other way to solve the problem, it was high time I learned to fight my own battles without any interference from my brother.  Hoss was devastated.  He tried to explain Johnny’s age and size, but my father held his ground.  If I couldn’t learn to settle an argument with words then it was up to me to settle the dispute on my own.

When Johnny set his sights on me later that week, my brother stood back and watched.  If nothing else, Hoss has always been the obedient son.  I got the shit kicked out of me that day, and when Hoss bent down to lift me up off the ground, tears filled his sky, blue eyes.  I brushed myself off and told him I was okay.  He said it weren’t about that.  At the time, I didn’t understand what he meant.

We never once talked about that day until years later when we were sitting together one night on second watch.  He told me how awful he’d felt that day as he watched blood seeping from my nose and mouth, and he wasn’t allowed to step in and help.  It made me all teary-eyed inside as I listened to him tell his side of the story.  His anger had been directed at Pa, and he’d stayed mad at my father for a long time after that.  He’d blamed Pa for me getting beat up so badly that day, and he’d continued blaming Pa for all the other schoolyard fights I lost to Johnny Buchman.

We talked long into the night as we circled the cattle, keeping watch for anything that might upset them and cause a stampede.  By the end of that school year, I’d learned how to fight, and I’d learned how to defend myself from the worst Johnny Buchman had to offer.  Pa had been right all along, and with the silvery moon shining down on the two of us during that long stretch on second watch, Hoss finally forgave our father.

9:30 p.m.

Another day of camping out in my bedroom has come to an end.  Hoss said he’d check on Julie for me again in the morning.  Did I mention what a good brother he is?

The days are hot, but here on the Ponderosa, the nights are still cool enough for comfortable sleeping.  That’s if a person was tired enough to fall asleep.  I hadn’t told the doc how much my leg ached, I guess because he’d never really asked.  But tonight, the constant throbbing seemed worse than it had been before.

~

Pa tapped on my door before walking in.  It was never a trait of his to wait for an answer.

“How’s it going, Son?”

I smiled.  “Fine, Pa.”

“May I sit down?”

“Sure.”

He handed me a glass of brandy.  “What’s this for?”

“Thought it might help you sleep.”

“Thanks.”

I downed the shot and set the empty glass on my bedside table.

“I see you’ve been writing.”

The tray with pen and ink and with my journal abruptly closed, for fear Pa might glimpse a word or two of what I’d written, remained on my lap.

“Yeah, some.  Silly stuff, really.”

“I doubt that.”

“I’ve been thinking about some of the things that happened to me when I was a kid, and I’ve been writing a few of those memories down, at least everything I can remember.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea, Son.  Something to save for your grandchildren.”

“Maybe you should worry about me getting married before you start thinking about grandkids, Pa.”

“Yes … maybe so, but somehow I think you may be the first to wed.”

“Me?”  Not me, Pa.  I’m waiting for my two old-maid aunts to get married off first.”

“Joseph …”

“Sorry, Pa.”  I don’t think Pa appreciated my sarcasm.

“Hoss tells me you asked him to ride in and check on Julie Morris again.”

“That’s right.  Is that okay?”

“Oh, sure it is.  I guess I didn’t realize how serious your relationship was.”

I studied the tray on my lap for a minute before I said anything to Pa.  “I guess it’s serious.  There aren’t any other girls I’d rather be with.”

“I’d call that serious, Son.”

I chuckled.  “I’m not ready to get married if that’s what you’re thinkin’.”

“Believe me, Joseph; I’m not trying to rush you.”

“Sure wish I could be with her.  Maybe if she heard my voice …”

“Hoss says her mother’s been there every day since the accident.”

“Yeah, I know.  It’s just …”

“I know, Son, and I’m sorry things turned out the way they have.”

I tried to smile, but it was only a half-smile.  He understood how I felt even if there was nothing more he could do or say.

“Goodnight, Joseph.”

“Nite, Pa.”

July 22, 3:00 a.m.

I just scared myself wide awake from what some may consider a nightmare.  It wasn’t the screaming kind of dream that sometimes wakes the whole family; it was the fact that in this dream I was surrounded by at least nine or ten children, all different sizes and ages.  My father was sitting high up in the clouds on a throne; his arms spread wide, beckoning my rather large brood into his welcoming arms.

“Thank you, son.  You’ve made an old man proud.”

Pa had gotten the grandkids he’d always wished for but ten?  Surely, I never promised him ten!

It was the middle of the night, and Hoss wouldn’t be riding into town for another four or five hours.  God, I hated this.  My leg was throbbing as if it had a heartbeat of its own.  I suppose that’s why I woke up.  Against doctor’s orders, I’d pulled myself up in bed to write.  I could sure use another shot of brandy, but the house was asleep and, of course, I wasn’t going anywhere.

I’d broken bones before, although I don’t remember them aching as bad as this.  Once, when I was just a little kid, Hoss and I were playing hide-and-seek out in the yard.  I’d hidden behind the water trough, thinkin’ I was safe from my giant of a brother.  When he finally found me, he grabbed hold of me, like I’d seen wrestlers do in a roped-off ring at a Virginia City fair.  Hoss tossed me into the water only to have my arm hit the side of the trough at an awkward angle.  We each heard the crack and the sudden shriek that followed.

I screamed and cried bloody murder as Hoss carried me into the house, soaking wet from head to toe.  His voice was strained, and he began crying too when he was forced to tell Pa what he’d done.  I was screaming and Hoss was crying.  What a combination to hit Pa and Hop Sing with on an otherwise pleasant Sunday afternoon.  I remember the chaos; Pa and Hop Sing scurrying around, trying to get us both to calm down so they could figure out what was wrong.

My left arm was broken, and that same afternoon the doc came out and slapped on a huge plaster cast, like the one I have now.  That ended any plans I had for summer vacation.  No swimming.  No fishing.  No riding my pony.  I hated Hoss for wrecking my summer, and I made sure he knew how he’d totally ruined my life.  That night, after the rest of us had gone to bed, Hoss packed his own pillowcase.  Unlike me and my five-year-old stunt, Hoss was older, maybe fifteen or sixteen at the time, and because he was older and a bit wiser, he made it out the back door without getting caught.

The next morning Pa left me with Hop Sing since I was unable to ride, and he and Adam went out searching for my brother.  I sat on the front porch all day long with my heavy cast perched on my lap, waiting for Hoss to come home.  When Pa and Adam walked their horses into the yard late that evening, my heart sank.  My big brother wasn’t with them.

I ran to my room and slammed the door, knowing I’d lost the best friend I’d ever had.  Pa tried to console me, but it was all my fault my brother had run away.  I’d told him I hated him when I loved him best of all.  Tomorrow I would ride out somehow, find him and make him understand I was wrong.

Pa and Adam left early the following morning on their search to find Hoss.  When Hop Sing wasn’t looking, I took off too.  Pa told me everywhere they’d looked the day before so I figured I knew exactly where he would be.  He’d be at our happy place, a place Pa and Adam didn’t know about.  It was a place just for Hoss and me.

In order to sneak away, I had waited patiently till Hop Sing had climbed down into the root cellar, and I ran quickly to the barn.  It was hard enough to get the bit situated in my pony’s mouth, but I was forced to ride bareback since I couldn’t begin to lift the saddle with only one good hand.

There sat my brother, overlooking the deep gulch and the lake below, so absorbed with its natural beauty, he didn’t hear me ride up behind him.  He sat with his hat on his lap; the constant breeze swirling through his light, blonde hair.  He turned around when he heard my bootheels scrape against the rocks leading down to our favorite spot, our special rock where we sat and pondered the world around us.

“Bet you’re starvin’ to death,” I said, trying to break the ice.  I sat down next to him, and I opened the bag of goodies I’d stolen from Hop Sing’s kitchen.  “Here,” I said, handing my brother a slab of roast beef leftover from the night before.

He thanked me, but he wouldn’t look my way.  He kept his eyes glued straight ahead.

“I didn’t mean what I said, Hoss.”

“Yeah, ya did.  I heard ya plain and clear.”

“But I didn’t mean it.  I was just mouthin’ off like I always do.”

“Yeah … well.”

“It was stupid of me.  I was just mad and I … I could never hate you.  You know that, don’t you?”

“I ‘spect.”

I explained to Hoss it was my own fault I’d broken my arm.  I’d been winding up so I could punch him for tryin’ to throw me in the trough.

“What else you got in that bag?”  I pulled out two slices of bread.  Hoss looked at me funny like. “Why’d you save the bread and give me the meat separate?”

I shrugged my shoulders.  “Guess I forgot what I brought.”

“Oh …”  Although Hoss seemed a bit confused, the ice was beginning to melt.

“I brought you an apple too.”

“Good.  I’m plumb starvin’ to death.”

We rode home side-by-side.  Hoss scolded me for coming out to get him, and he scolded me a second time for riding my pony with a dad-blamed broken arm.  I didn’t mind this time.  We’d made up and things were right between us again.  I didn’t realize at the time how much my words had hurt him—how those three simple words—I hate you—had made my brother want to leave his home and the family he loved so much.

Again, I apologized, but this time Hoss said it weren’t nothin’ and told me to forget it.  We met up with Pa and Adam on the slow ride back to the house.  Hoss would only let me walk my pony but as soon as Pa spotted us, he and Adam came racing our way.

Pa started in on me, but Hoss, who’d become my ally once again, assured him he’d already had it out with me for riding out to find him.  Pa let it go at that, and the four of us rode home together.  Hoss never had cause to run away again.

~

“Paul’s here to see you, Son.”

Pa and the doc entered my room.  It was early; I still had my breakfast tray on my lap.  I happened to be Paul’s first patient.  He’d seen Hoss on his way out to the ranch, so he and my brother had ridden back here together.

“How’s Julie?” I asked before we started on anything else.

He sat his bag down on my nightstand.  “Nothing new, Joe.  So far, there’s been no change in her condition.”

I glanced up at Pa, but there was nothing to say.  Paul lifted the sheet off my leg.  “Let’s get the cast off and take a look.”  After soaking, and then cutting through the heavy plaster, the look on Paul’s face said it all.  “We’ve got a problem.”

“What do you mean, Doc?”

“I’m afraid …” Paul hesitated and shook his head.  “There’s probably something lodged down deep in the wound.  I’m going to have to open you up, Joe.  You’ve got an infection and if it settles near the bone …”

“Then what?” 

“Let’s not take that chance.”  Paul turned to my father.  “Have Hop Sing boil plenty of water.  I’ll need to drain this infection immediately.”

I glanced at Hoss, who stood toward the back of my room, not wanting to be a bother but ready to help if he was needed.  He nodded at Pa and quickly left to do Paul’s bidding.  I could tell by the look on his face—the set of his eyes and the slight shaking, back and forth, of his head—exactly what Hoss was thinking.  He blamed himself.  He’s the one who’d popped the bone back into place.  My pant leg had been torn when the shattered end of the bone protruded, only slightly, through the skin.  Dirt or cloth could have easily fallen into the wound before he’d bandaged it up.

“Why’d it take so long, Doc?”

“That’s the way it works sometimes, Joe.  Whatever is in there has worked its way down, and it’s taken this long to finally make its way back to the surface.  It could be something as small as a splinter you’d dig out of the tip of your finger.”

Paul leaned over the bed and touched the incision.  My entire body tensed.  I tried to stay calm, but I couldn’t help but throw my head back and gasp for air.

“How long?” 

“Yesterday.”

The doc turned to Pa.  “I wish I’d known about this sooner.”

Paul mixed some powders in a glass of water, and that’s all I really remember until I woke up a few hours later disoriented and totally confused by my surroundings.  This wasn’t my room.

“Pa?” 

“I’m right here, Son.”

“What … where am I?”

“The surgery is over, Joseph.  Paul and I thought you might rest easier if you were here at his office.  That way he’s able to check your leg every few hours.”

“I’m at Doc’s?”

“Yes.”

“Julie …”

“She’s right here, Son.”  Pa glanced at the bed across from me before he straightened the sheet up over my shoulders.  “You rest.  You can talk to her after you get some much-needed sleep.”

I was beat.  I closed my eyes.  “Kay …”

~

A china lamp, the wick turned low, glowed softly on the table between the two beds.  Pa was snoring softly in a chair next to my bed.  I wiggled the toes on both feet, making sure the dream I’d just had hadn’t come true.  Two sets of toes remained under the sheet, ending the panic I’d felt upon waking.  I was thirsty, but I hated to wake Pa.

There was a shadowy movement at the far end of the room.  I heard someone pouring water into a glass.  I turned my head slightly to see Mrs. Morris walking toward me.  “Thought you might need a drink,” she said.

“Thanks.”

I handed her back the empty glass, and even though we’d been as quiet as church mice, we’d woken my father. “Guess I nodded off there,” Pa said, scrubbing his hands across his sleepy face.  “How do you feel, Son?”

“Fine.”

Pa looked up at Julie’s mother, who was still standing next to my bed, holding the empty glass.  “You have to understand Joseph, Margaret.  ‘Fine,’ is my son’s standard response to any injury he’s ever had.”

“My Julie’s just the opposite,” she said, trying to smile but failing miserably.  “Milks even a tiny scratch for all it’s worth.”

I wanted to smile after seeing the desperation in her eyes—reassure her that in time Julie would be fine, but I was too tired to do much of anything.

“Is she awake?” 

“I’m afraid not, Little Joe.  But maybe hearing your voice …”

Mrs. Morris turned slightly and picked up her daughter’s hand.  The room was small.  There were two single beds, a small bedside table, and two chairs between the beds for visitors:  Pa and Mrs. Morris.  At the far end of the room, another wooden table stood, which held a basin and pitcher.  This was the only spare room Paul had for patients who weren’t in his surgery.  I knew Pa wouldn’t leave my side.  I suspected Mrs. Morris wouldn’t leave Julie’s either.

“What time is it?” 

“About 8:15,” Pa said.

“I’ll be fine.”  The glass of water seemed to restore some of my energy.  “Why don’t you go on home and get some sleep?”

Paul entered the crowded room.  “I thought I heard voices.  How’s my patient this evening?”

“Oh, he’s fine, Paul.  Just fine,” Pa said, mocking my earlier response.

“Let’s take a look, shall we?”

The doc set his cup of coffee on the table between the beds.  He inspected the new wound on my splinted leg and seemed satisfied with what he saw.  He glanced at Mrs. Morris, who shook her head, a sign of defeat.  “Tomorrow’s a new day.  Why don’t you two go home and get some rest?  I’ll stay here tonight with our patients.”

“Pa?”

“What, son?”

“Will you bring my journal and ink when you come back tomorrow?”

“Does that mean you’d like me to leave?”

“Doctor’s orders.”

Pa leaned over and squeezed my arm.  “I’ll see you in the morning, Joseph.  Rest easy, Son.”

“Nite, Pa.”

Under no other circumstances would a young man such as myself, and a young lady be left alone to share a room overnight.  All parties involved seemed to think we couldn’t get into too much trouble, each of us confined to our beds like we were.  As for now, I couldn’t move much more than my head, but I watched every breath Julie took, barely making out the rise and fall of her chest in the dim light of the china lamp.

The other two bystanders, who’d been hit by the runaway stage, had only minor scrapes and bruises.  Paul had treated them and sent them on their way.  Julie hadn’t fared so well.  Her ribs were bound and her right arm had been splinted, not plastered.  I could only imagine Paul wouldn’t make the effort until she woke from this long sleep he’d referred to as a coma.

I’d watched Mrs. Morris, and then Paul, give Julie sips of water from a glass straw. They each had to nudge her lips open with the tip and trickle water in slowly.  But, reflexively, Julie managed to swallow each drop she was given.

There were no facial expressions, no movements of any kind.  She looked peaceful as if she was enjoying a pleasant dream and didn’t want to wake up just yet.  Even though we shared the same room, I couldn’t begin to reach her.  If I could just hold her hand; let her know I was here and that I’d do anything …

~

I smelled coffee brewing.  My stomach rumbled, and I realized I hadn’t really eaten since breakfast yesterday unless you consider a cup of broth I’d had last night, food.  Doc walked in with a cup for me and one for himself.  “How’s she doing this morning?”

“She’s still breathing.”

“That’s all we can hope for right now, Joe.”

“How long will this last, Doc?”

Paul leaned back in the chair Pa had used earlier and crossed one leg over the other.  “I wish I had an answer, but I don’t.  Could be today.  Could be a week from now.”

“I see.”

There were footsteps, sounding in the hallway, and the doc and I turned our attention toward the open door.

“Any more of that coffee?”  It was my father’s voice.  “Sure smells good.”

“Did you sleep at all, Pa?” It was early; the sun had made its appearance through the window just a few minutes ago, and I was well aware of how long it took to ride into town from the house.

“Some.”  Pa smiled as he crossed the room.  “I couldn’t leave my youngest for too long, could I?”

“Well, since you’re here, help me sit up taller, will ya?”  I was leaning up on one elbow which wasn’t the easiest position for drinking hot coffee.

It took two grown men to pull me up to my full height in the bed without having a negative effect on my leg.  I let out a small groan as Pa and the doc each hooked their elbows under my arms and leaned me up against the headboard of the narrow bed.  “Better,” I said, breathing hard.  “Thanks.”

Pa had set a carpetbag on one of the chairs earlier.  “I brought you a change of clothes and the things you’d asked for, Joe.”

“Good.  Thanks, Pa.”  I looked up at Paul.  “How long will I be laid up this time, Doc?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“When I think I can cast your leg.  Let’s just say you’re not going anywhere for a while.”

“But maybe I could sit in a chair, right?”

“We’ll see.  Not today, though, so you just relax and forget all about moving around.  You and your pa can watch over Julie while I make my morning rounds.”

“Where’s Mrs. Morris?”

“I told her to stay home today with her husband and younger children.  Hopefully, she listened to what I said better than your father.”

I winked at Pa.  It was only to prove to me he was capable of following doctor’s orders that my father rode home to begin with.

“I’ll get you that cup of coffee, Ben.”  Paul couldn’t help but smile at the two of us before he shook his head and headed out of the room.

Pa pulled the chair up closer to the head of the bed after he emptied the carpetbag of my journal and supplies.  The clean clothes remained in the bag, and Pa slipped them under the bed for now.  He looked toward Julie and shook his head.  I knew what he was thinking without him having to say anything out loud.

“She’ll be fine, Pa.”

“I sure hope so, Son.”

“Still countin’ those grandkids?”

“Joseph …”  Pa shook his head again, this time at me.  “Enough of that.”

Pa and I both turned our heads when a slight moaning sound came from the other bed.  “Get the doc,” I cried.  “Hurry, Pa.”

Pa literally ran from the room.  He nearly collided with Paul and the steaming-hot cup.  “It’s Julie, Paul.  The mug of coffee quickly changed hands.  Paul grabbed his stethoscope and rushed to the side of her bed, but with his back to me, I couldn’t tell what was happening.

“Is she okay?” I asked, straining my neck to see.  “Is she awake?”  Even though I tried to lean to the side without moving my leg, the doc’s back still blocked me from seeing Julie.

“Hang on, Joe.  Let me listen a minute.”

When Paul was finished, he turned to face me.  “Her heartbeat is sound.”

I could barely breathe.  I trembled at the words I prayed to hear.  “See?  I told you, Pa.  I told you she’d be fine.”

“Hold on now,” Paul said.  “She’s far from fine.”

“What?”

“She’s not out of the woods yet, Son.  Don’t get me wrong though.  She’s trying her best to come back.”

“Maybe … maybe if I talked to her.  Maybe I could make her want to …”

“Easy, Joe.  Paul said these things take time.”

“I know all that, Pa, but if I could touch her … talk to her.”

Pa and the doc locked eyes.  “It couldn’t hurt, Ben.”

It was a small battle, but I’d felt as though I’d won the war.

It took the better part of half an hour before the room had been rearranged and put back together.  The beds were pushed closer together with the visitor’s chairs and the small table on the outer sides of each bed.

“Thanks,” I said, winking at both men.  “This will do fine.”

I reached over and took Julie’s hand in mine.  Her fingers were warm to the touch and slightly swollen.  I remained sitting with my splinted leg on top of the bedding.  I wore a nightshirt and a pair of black long johns with the right leg cut off above the incision.  I looked ridiculous, especially in front of my girl, but I didn’t have much of a choice.

Pa stayed with the two of us while Paul drove out to a couple of ranches where he was needed on a regular basis.  By noon, Pa said goodbye for now, and Paul returned to his office, saying he had some paperwork to do between walk-in patients.  Now that Julie and I were finally alone, I was hesitant as to what to say.

I talked to her in a normal voice, as if we were holding hands and walking through a lush, green meadow on a warm summer’s day.  I imagined she was answering all of my questions and asking ones of her own.  Julie and I got along well.  We liked the same things, and more often than not, we were happy just being in each other’s company.  There didn’t always have to be talk.

I rested the back of my head against the headboard and closed my eyes.  I still held Julie’s hand then realized I wanted my thoughts written down, not just drifting into space.

July 23, 1860 – 1:00 p.m.

Julie doesn’t know I’m here with her, but I know she will soon.  Maybe there’s a chance she can hear me while I rattle off stories I think she’ll enjoy.  I’d been transferred to Paul’s office soon after the surgery he’d performed while I was still home.  The doctor had cleaned out the infection, but I hate to tell him my leg hurts worse now than it had before.  He’d said he could keep a closer eye on me if I was here at his place.  I thought differently than the doc.  I didn’t give a damn about anything, including my leg if the unthinkable happened to Julie.

She began to stir earlier today, and I’d taken that as a good sign.  The doc didn’t want me to get my hopes up too soon, but I couldn’t help thinking of the times we’ve yet to enjoy.  Before long, the two of us would be riding and going to dances, stopping for lemonade and laughing together as we’ve always done in the past.

Pa had asked if Julie and I were serious.  I didn’t really know how to answer him when he’d first brought it up.  Somehow, with us both laid up, and not having seen each other for over a month due to the cattle drive and all, I’d found my answer.  I really did love this girl, and if she’ll have me, I’ll summon the preacher and marry this girl the minute she wakes up.  And, in time, we’ll give Pa that passel of grandkids he’s always wanted.

If I knew how to wake her I would.  I talk to her off and on, but she hasn’t made another sound.  I have nowhere else to go and all the patience in the world.  Well, maybe my family would disagree with the second part of that statement.  But I’ve grown up some, even over the past month, and if I hadn’t learned patience before, I’m certainly learning it now.

Pa’s harped at me my entire life about losing my temper and my lack of patience.  “Slow down, Joseph.”  Those were his favorite words when I was a kid.  “What’s your all-fired hurry, Little Joe.”  That was Hoss.  Now with Adam, there are still comments about anything and everything I do, and none of them are very encouraging either.  I can rarely satisfy my eldest brother’s requests no matter how hard I try.  “Mr. Perfect” expects too much—at least more than I’m willing to give.

Once, a couple of years ago, Adam and I really got into it over a horse; a beautiful, black stallion we’d seen up by Montpelier then again, close to Alice Point.  He was the most magnificent horse I’d ever seen.  I sat perfectly still on the back of Cochise, watching his sleek, black mane streaming in the wind while every well-defined muscle glistened in the mid-day sun as he stretched out his legs in a full-out run.   

I whooped and hollered, and I’d all but claimed him as mine, but when I turned toward my brother, knowing we’d hit the jackpot when we’d spotted this horse, of course, Adam disagreed.   

“He’s too wild, Joe.  You don’t have patience for an animal like that.”

I glared at my brother.  I’d been verbally attacked, and with those words said, Adam had automatically challenged me to prove him wrong.  I set out the next morning, alone, to find the powerful, black stallion and bring him home.  I’d left before sunrise, leaving a note on Pa’s desk. I’d be gone for a couple of days.  Ask Adam for more details I’d written as an afterthought.

I wasn’t a baby anymore.  I was sixteen years old, and I could break any horse I set my mind to.  Adam thought he knew everything about me, but he didn’t.  So I set out to show him how wrong he could be.

I spotted the black on the second day out.  I’d probably chased him for ten to fifteen miles until he wound up trapped in a box canyon.  All I had to do now was wait.  “Patience,” I wanted to tell Adam.  I had enough for ten men when it came to this spirited horse.  With rope in hand, I steadied myself at the edge of the canyon, waiting.  I roped him on the first try.  He fought and bucked, and even though I’d worn a pair of heavy work gloves, he nearly ripped my hands to shreds.

I kept right up with him until he finally settled, then I tied the extra length of rope around my saddle horn to lead him home.  We took it slow, stopping for water and even taking time for him and Cooch to graze on lush, green grass.  I talked to him often, keeping my voice soft and steady, and even as I spoke nonsense to this big and powerful horse, it seemed to me he listened to every word I said.  By the time we returned to the Ponderosa, the stallion had gotten to know me more as a friend than an enemy.

I’d never felt as proud as the day I rode into the yard with my valued prize prancing gallantly behind me.  Pa came out the door first.  He was flanked by Adam and followed by Hoss, who’d chosen to stay farther behind.  My smile quickly faded when Pa marched straight toward me; his eyes blazing with anger.

“Get down off that horse, Joseph.”

I glanced at Hoss.  He stood with his hands sunk deep in his back pockets, shaking his head as he stared down at the tips of his boots.

Adam stood next to Pa; the same wild look of anger shooting from his eyes.

“But, Pa—”

“Now, Joseph!”

I untied the black from my saddle and slid off of Cochise.  The stallion stood patiently behind.  I took a few steps back till the stallion and I were standing side by side.

“Give the rope to Adam.”

“Why?  It’s my horse, not his.”

“Joseph!”

“Why?”  None of this made sense.  I ran my hand down the stallion’s neck, making sure he didn’t panic with all the new, loud voices erupting that day in the yard.

“Because I said so.”

My heart pounded as I dropped the rope to the ground.  I flew past my father and brothers.  I can’t describe how furious I was at Pa and if I had to guess, Adam was behind the whole thing.  I stormed into the house, ran up the stairs, and slammed my bedroom door.  The stallion was mine, and I didn’t understand why Pa was acting as though—

~

“What?”  I said, turning my head to the sound of my name being whispered by Julie in the adjacent bed.  “Julie?”  I wasn’t sure if I’d only imagined she’d said my name or if it had been real.  I set down my journal and leaned toward her bed.  “Julie?  Wake up now, Julie.  It’s me.  It’s Joe.”

Maybe I’d only imagined her speaking.  I gently stroked the side of her face, and I honestly believe she pressed her cheek closer against my hand.  There were no more words, only the slight movement of her chest as she breathed in and out.  I sat back up and leaned against the pillows propped against the headboard.  This was a good sign, but there was nothing more I could do for Julie.  She’d fallen back asleep.  I picked up my pen and my journal.  I was not quite finished with the story.

~

I stood beside my window, staring at the yard below.  As Adam led the black to the corral, Hoss took care of Cochise, but it wasn’t long before Pa opened my bedroom door.  I was still fuming, and I wasn’t interested in anything he had to say.  Adam had betrayed me, and I wanted no part of their conspiracy to rid me of my new horse.

“I’ve spoken to your brother,” Pa said as if I didn’t already know.  “Joseph?”

I kept my eyes focused out the window and on my brother down below.  He’d closed the corral gate.  He walked toward the barn, coiling the rope I’d used on the black while the stallion pranced like the king of the world around the inner perimeter of the corral.  He looked far from ordinary with his head held high and his gait precise.  I’d already begun the bonding ritual I’d used on other wild horses.  He was mine, only mine.

I hadn’t heard Pa cross the room.  His voice, as he stood right behind me, startled me.  Again, I heard Adam’s words, only this time my father spoke about patience and the nature of the animal.

“Adam says this particular horse is too wild, too unpredictable.”

I whirled around and faced my father.  “That’s his opinion, Pa, and he’s wrong.  I can gentle that horse.”

“Not this time, Son.  It’s too much of a risk.”

I was fuming.  I’d never been so angry.  “You gonna let Adam have him?”

“Tell me one thing, Joseph.  Why is this horse so important to you?”

“He just is.  I saw him first, and the second I laid eyes on him I wanted to bring him home and tame him myself.”

“Why didn’t you discuss this with me instead of sneaking out in the middle of the night?”

I knew why, but Pa would never understand.  “I just did, Pa.  I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you before I left”

“I’m guessing it has something to do with your brother.  Am I right?”

I turned back to the window.  Hoss and Adam were walking toward the house.

“Joseph?”

“Yes!” I said, staring at Pa over my right shoulder.  “It has everything to do with my brother.”

“Why, Son?”

“Why?  Come on, Pa.  Adam doesn’t think I can handle him, but I can.  I’m already halfway there.”

“What’s that mean.”

“He knows me, Pa.  He trusts me.  Half of working a horse is trust.”

“Joe …”

“He does, Pa!”  I turned back to the window before I said something I might regret.  The sturdy, black stallion stood silently in the corral, waiting patiently for my return.  But if Adam and Pa had their way, it was over.  Hot tears burned my eyes, and I wasn’t about to let my father see how upset I’d become.  “Just forget it.  Just give the damn horse to Adam.  I don’t care anymore.”

~

I glanced over at Julie, and what I saw shocked the hell out of me.  Her eyes were open.  She stared, not at me, but toward the ceiling.   “Julie,” I whispered.  “Julie? It’s Joe.  Can you hear me?”

I leaned toward her and picked up her hand, a hand that was cold as ice.

“Doc!  Doc, come quick!”

Chapter 2

Summer of 1872 – Twelve years later.

As soon as she removed the cloth from his forehead, Joe began to stir.  For two long days, he’d suffered, close to delirium, from a fever brought on by an infection he developed after he’d sliced his leg with an ax while cutting down a tree.

At first, she was frightened.  After seeing blood, soaking the bottom half of his pant leg, it wasn’t long after the initial shock that she scolded him for working alone.  Joe was in such a hurry to clear the land, to have everything right, to make his bride proud.  

“Where’s Candy?” she’d asked.  “Why isn’t he with you?”

“Had to ride back to the ranch to help Pa.”

Joe’s voice was barely audible as he managed to climb down from the wagon.  Hitting the ground with his good foot, he accepted his wife’s assistance and draped his arm around her shoulders.  Even though he’d done his best at the time, blood-soaked the shirt he’d ripped up for bandages.  The four-inch gash caused him more pain than he’d let on.

Alice did her best to clean the wound and re-bandage Joe’s leg, but when she’d wanted to call the doctor, Joe refused.  “I’ll be fine,” he’d said.  “It’s nothing more than a scratch.”

Although he’d said no, Alice had sent for Doc Martin anyway.  After reprimanding Joe for being so dadblamed stubborn, Paul assured Alice she’d done the right thing.  The fever, due to infection, had kept a tight hold, causing her husband to cry out at times or mumble words she tried desperately to understand.  Something about his brother, Hoss—a man she admired but had never met—and something about his leg, but she couldn’t quite decide if there was a connection or not.

Between keeping cold compresses against her husband’s forehead and bathing his face and chest repeatedly with cool water, she remembered an old journal Joe had thrown in a dresser drawer when they’d first moved into the house.  He’d told her it was nothing but a kid’s ramblings, something he’d used to pass the time when he was laid up once with a broken leg.  His brother, his eldest, had presented him with the tan-covered journal to keep him from getting bored during the long, confining days of recovery.

She wondered why he’d kept such a thing.  Was the broken leg what he’d referred to when the subject of broken bones and childhood illnesses was once discussed?  Since Adam, whom Joe no longer had any communication with, had given him the book as a gift, had that been the ultimate reason for keeping some old journal he considered nothing worth reading?

She stared down at her husband, so peaceful and calm, and prayed his fever was waning.  She thought of the two brothers she’d never known.  Adam, the one who’d left home for another kind of life, and Hoss, the brother who’d just recently died.  She remembered a time before they were married when they’d taken a buggy ride to one of Joe’s favorite places.  He’d called it his happy place.  He spoke of Hoss and she remembered the emotion in his voice as he tried to describe his beloved brother.  

Joe was not a loner.  He was happiest in the company of friends and family.  She could only imagine his despair at moving forward in life—a life that didn’t include either of his older brothers.

She sat next to their bed until she could stand it no longer.  The journal, and what it may reveal about Joe’s past, was calling out to her, but did she dare?  Alice stood up and crossed the room.  Without making a sound, she opened the dresser drawer, and under Joe’s long johns and handkerchiefs he never used, laid the tan, leather-bound book.  She glanced quickly at Joe then slowly turned to page one.

July 16, 1860

“Stuck in bed.

Broke my leg during the cattle drive.”

~~~

Twelve years ago, she thought.  Only eighteen-years-old.

Could this be what Joe was trying to tell her about or was she using his mumblings as an excuse to seek out something private and not meant for her to read?  The temptation was far too great, and after wringing out another cool cloth and placing it gently on Joe’s forehead, she picked up the journal again.  She flipped through the pages, turning to the final sentence only a third of the way through the book.  The entries had stopped suddenly, and she couldn’t help but wonder why.

~

“Just forget it.  Just give the damn horse to Adam.  I don’t care anymore.”

~

This was the end of Joe’s writing, and she didn’t figure this entry—and the prior argument with his father—had much to do with a broken leg.  On the other hand, maybe he’d taken a fall from this horse, and somewhere in between, there could be an explanation.  She’d have to go back and start from the very beginning.  

“Later,” she thought, setting the book on the table next to the bowl of cool water.  The fever came first.

Ben Cartwright dropped by daily—typically twice.  His visits were welcomed, and his continual reassurance that Joe, more than anyone else in this world, had been blessed with the God-given will to survive.  His words had brought Alice comfort.  Ben’s daily support and his own profound faith had kept her from falling apart as she’d watch Joe wrestle, on and off, with memories of long ago.  Knowing Ben was just as frightened as she, never once did he let on.  His words were gentle and kind, reflecting age and wisdom and the deep sense of love he felt for his youngest son.

She had everything she’d ever hoped.  During these first few weeks of marriage, her life had moved forward from a miserable existence with her lying, gambling brother, to a world she’d always dreamed of but never thought possible.  Without Joe and his genuine love of life, she was happier than she’d ever been slipping from town to town before loan sharks discovered her brother was long gone and her money was lost forever.  Joe was her knight in shining armor, her prince among men, her lover, and most importantly, her best friend.

By mid-afternoon, as Alice routinely smoothed the cool cloth across her husband’s pale face, Joe blinked repeatedly before opening his eyes.  The corners of her mouth turned up, and slowly, she smiled.  A sense of relief washed over her; the worst was over.  The fever had finally broken.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Although the fever had broken Joe was exhausted, and after a much-needed drink of water, he fell back into a restful rather than restive sleep.  Alice straightened the sheet up over his shoulders, picked up the journal, and sat back down next to their bed.  She quickly scanned the first few entries.  Realizing Joe was trying to get his bearings and figure out what to write, he began recounting long-lost stories.  Certain entries were clearly more important than others, although she tuned into every word of the awkward writing of her left-handed husband’s scrawl.

~

“Thinking about Julie.”

~

Not long after this girl’s name was mentioned came the poem, and Alice had to cover her mouth to contain a giggle before she woke her husband and had to explain why his choice of words had tickled her so.  Lord Byron, he was not.  She continued, trying to picture her thirty-year-old husband as an eighteen-year-old boy, a young man deeply in love with a girl named Julie.

Certain entries gave her pause, and she found herself feeling a special kind of love, a deeper love, for this man who lay sleeping peacefully before her.  Suddenly, feeling guilty for delving into his private memoirs—seeing how his emotions and his sensitive nature had come out in print—she set the book aside.

Joe had made one thing clear right from the beginning of their marriage.  “The future is ours to live, to enjoy every day to the fullest.”  Although our brothers, living or not, were never far from our minds, neither of us was allowed to dwell on misfortunes and tragedies we’d been forced to live through in the past.

Hesitating for only a minute, she picked the journal back up and continued reading.  There were more entries about Julie, who seemed to preoccupy most of Joe’s thoughts during that period of his life, but she also enjoyed reading about Hoss, the brother who’d always been there for Joe; the brother she wished she’d known.

Glancing up at Joe more frequently now, and making sure he was still asleep, she continued through the pages as if they held the magic key to his past life.  There was more she wanted to know, more insight into the boy he’d once been.

She turned to the next entry and read more about big brother, Hoss, and what a caring young man he had been.  Maybe Joe had been wrong.  Maybe leaving the past behind was a mistake.  All the memories Joe had of his brothers, whether good times or bad, had been an intricate part of his life.

She laid the book in her lap and thought about her own brother, John.  He had been a decent brother at one given time, and she wanted to remember the way life had been when they were young and carefree—a time before gambling had become an all-consuming part of his life.  At some point, the timing would be right, and she would sit down with Joe and make him realize his brothers were a vital part of the man he’d become.  To deny the past, whether it was hurtful to relive certain memories or not, was not what she wanted for their future.

She turned the page and read on.

~

“I didn’t give a damn about anything, including my leg if the unthinkable happened to Julie.”

~

Again, Alice glanced at Joe, his chest barely moving while resting comfortably during this stage of uninterrupted sleep.  She couldn’t help but wonder what happened to this girl he’d been so fond of.  It was obvious she was very sick or had been injured somehow, although she wasn’t sure just yet what had happened.

As Alice was eagerly learning more about Joe’s love for Julie, the entries switched suddenly to a story he’d remembered about a black stallion—a horse he’d been proud to bring home and gentle himself.  She’d been so consumed with finding out more about Julie, she realized she’d already read through the parts concerning Hoss and Joe’s broken leg; her excuse for pulling out the journal in the first place.

She couldn’t stop now, even if she’d already read what she’d initially been looking for.  Alice leaned back in her chair, trying to picture the look on a younger Joe’s face as he rode into the yard elated by what he’d accomplished.  His joy faded quickly as if a knife had been plunged straight through his heart.  For a moment, she cursed her father-in-law and an older brother she hadn’t known.  Weren’t they aware?  Didn’t they sense that feeling of pride on the young boy’s face?  She quickly wiped at a tear.  She turned the page, hoping Joe had come out the victor.

~

“Just forget it.  Just give the damn horse to Adam.  I don’t care anymore.”

~

The adjoining page was blank; she flipped to the next.  She found nothing.  She fanned the pages, hoping for the written word to explain what had happened to the black stallion, and what about Julie?  In her furry to read more, to search for answers, she’d all but forgotten about Joe lying directly in front of her.

Her husband stared up at her from his bed of white linens, clearly aware of what she held in her hand.  Quickly, she closed the book, trying to hide it within the skirt flowing from her lap.

“Joe …”

He said nothing.

“Joe, I’m … I didn’t mean …”

“It doesn’t matter.  It was a long time ago.”

Alice was devastated.  She’d done the unthinkable.  “I … I don’t know what to say.”

“Forget it.”

“I’m sorry.  I never should’ve—”

Joe rolled onto his side, facing his wife.  He reached out for the worn-looking journal.  She handed it to him.  He, too, fanned the pages.  “Guess I lost interest,” he said after reading the final entry.  “Did you finish reading?”

“Yes …”

Joe chuckled as he read a few of the words on the final page.  “I remember that horse.  I was sixteen years old then.”

Alice kept silent.

Still smiling, Joe looked up from the book.  “I hope you didn’t laugh too hard at my meager ramblings.”

Alice shook her head.  She’d only laughed once, but she would never let on.

“Any questions?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat before she could ask the single question that had driven her to finish reading the journal.  “Yes …” she said hesitantly.  “I only have one.”

“Shoot,” Joe said softly.

“Are you sure?”

“Sure, I’m sure.”

“Okay,” she said and cleared her throat.  “Whatever happened to Julie?”

Alice sprung from her chair when Joe began pushing himself up in the bed.  She lifted both pillows, placing them upright behind him.  “Thanks.”

But he said no more.  Alice wouldn’t ask twice, and now she wished she’d kept her promise and let the past remain the past.  She wouldn’t blame him at all if he chose not to tell her anything about this young girl he’d written so lovingly about.  After all, they’d promised each other …

“She died,” Joe said in a whispered voice, shattering her thoughts and capturing her undivided attention.  “She’d been … it was an accident and she … she never recovered from a head injury.”

Now that he’d spoken, Alice was dumbfounded as to what to say.  Why hadn’t she realized that’s why there were no more entries?  The sadness in Joe’s eyes conveyed those long-ago feelings, and being a deeply reserved woman, she didn’t move a muscle or say anything that might upset him even more.  Tears glistened in his eyes, but that’s where they remained.  He took a deep breath, refusing to let them fall.  

“Doc called it a coma.  She never …”  He turned to Alice and lifted the corners of his mouth in a half-smile.  “It was a long time ago.”

“You loved her very much.”

“Come here,” Joe said, reaching his hand across the bed.

Alice stood from the chair and joined her husband on their bed.  He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close enough that her head rested against his shoulder.

“I love you more,” he said before kissing the top of her head.

Alice tilted her face toward his and smiled, and even though she lay alongside him, she felt the need to hold him tightly, to comfort that young man who’d lost the girl of his dreams.  The young man who’d fought to keep what he’d considered his; the magnificent black stallion and who struggled every day with the memories of a beloved brother who’d left this world too soon.

She draped her arm across his chest, and he welcomed her hand in his.  And only because their love was strong, and their future together held such promise, did she allow Joe the time needed to reflect on this young girl who was taken from his life unexpectedly.

“Will you promise me one thing?” she said after a suitable amount of time had passed.  Soon, she would tell him of her delicate condition, something she couldn’t keep hidden much longer.

“Anything,” Joe answered.

“Promise we’ll be together forever.”

Chapter 3

Autumn – 1872

Pa and I pushed back our chairs and stood up from the dining room table.  Again, we’d overeaten after trying to sift through half the bountiful spread Hop Sing continued to prepare.  The only reason our cook had never made good on his threat to go back to China was that he knew how much he could count on Hoss appreciating his cooking.  It wasn’t that Pa and I didn’t appreciate; it’s that between the two of us combined, we couldn’t possibly eat what Hoss managed to devour in one sitting.

Pa motioned me to follow him to his desk.  He handed me a package he’d picked up earlier today at the post office.  We both recognized the handwriting; the finely tuned script that adorned the brown paper wrapping was my brother Adam’s.  I glanced up at Pa and though I could tell he was anxious, he folded his arms across his chest and waited patiently for me to rip off the paper and see what my brother had sent.

A smile crossed my face when I realized its contents.  A leather-bound journal, similar to the one I’d received when I was just a kid.  He’d been away for years; I had given up writing him long ago.  My father kept him abreast of everything that went on in our lives.  Leave it to Adam to realize not only had I lost my wife and my unborn child; I’d lost everything else in the fire.  I glanced up at Pa and with tears holding steady, I gripped tightly to the new leather book and climbed the stairs to my room.

Oct. 16, 1872 – late evening

It seems like a hundred years have passed since I’ve inked a pen and written anything down.  I suppose there were times I could have or maybe should have put my thoughts to paper, but maybe I was lazy, or maybe life got in the way.  More important things took up my time and writing down my thoughts in a journal was not something I ever thought about.  I wasn’t like Adam who wrote endlessly in his own set of journals but for some reason, one I may never understand, the time seems right to start writing again.

A lot has happened—a lot of years have gone by, and I’m feeling a bit rusty.  I remember Adam telling me a journal was for my eyes only.  How wrong was that statement?  I remember the look on Alice’s face the day I looked up to see her frantically flipping through pages, looking for an ending to a story I’d never taken time to finish.  Again, life, or should I say death got in the way.

At first, I felt embarrassed she’d resurrected the old thing.  I thought I’d hidden it safely away, although I’m not real sure why I’d kept it in the first place.  After twelve long years, none of those stories mattered anymore anyway.  That time of my life was ancient history.  It was just the scribbling of a boy who had nothing better to do.

Like my brother, Hoss, my wife is no longer part of my life.  There are days the grief is so raw—like an open wound festering until I just want the pain, maybe even my life, to end.  I fight hard to keep myself from collapsing and losing hold of that very fragile edge called sanity.  I ask myself why?  What could possibly be God’s purpose for wanting me to face every day of my life with this overwhelming feeling of loss?

When Hoss died, I thought I’d lived through the worst life had to offer.  But as we all know, life never stands still, never stays the same, and living without the ones you love …

I’ve moved back to the main house, back to my old room, back into the house where I was born, but I’m not alone.  My father, who keeps a close watch, who makes sure the edge never gets too close, is my only saving grace in a world that has turned upside down.

Thinking back a few years, I remember another life-changing moment.  It was in the spring of ’65 when Adam sat us all down in the great room after dinner.  I had no idea what was to come—no idea how one single night would affect the rest of our lives.  After he’d placed an unnecessary log on the fast-burning fire, we’d all gathered around to hear what he considered an important announcement.  Hoss and I rolled our eyes, but this was Adam, and the two of us wondered what could be so hell-fired important.

“I’m leaving the Ponderosa.”

His words were blunt and to the point, and I’ll remember those four words for the rest of my life.  I glanced up at Pa, who was standing alongside my eldest brother in front of the fire.  When he dipped his head slightly, nodding at Hoss and me who were seated beside each other on the settee, I realized my father had already been informed of Adam’s decision.

My overwhelming disbelief in what I’d just heard caused me to stumble through a variety of words although none of them were the right words.  I tried my best over the next few days to dissuade my eldest brother from making the biggest mistake of his life, but I soon realized he’d been yearning to leave for years.  Maybe I was still too young to understand, and I wished him well.  I’d surrendered the battle, raised the white flag, and let my brother win the war.

While some choose to leave their world behind, others are taken from us when we’re least expecting, and the loss is so great the mind never really heals.  When Hoss left this world less than a year ago it wasn’t by choice.  There wasn’t a discussion in front of a roaring fire, no time to digest the devastating blow and the toll it took on all our lives.  “I’ve lived long and good,” Hoss said.  He knew what was to come but for me, knowing and keeping my feelings hidden was next to impossible.

I took over sitting next to him in his oversized bed when Pa felt the need for a break.  My brother’s eyes were closed; he lay peacefully.  Tears had always been part of my world although never in front of Hoss.  Like I’d done so many years ago while waiting for Julie to wake, I sat and watched the rhythm of my brother’s chest rise and fall, rise and fall.  But as I stared this time at the sheet covering my brother’s chest, there was no rise and fall.  My best friend was gone and I was alone.

When I stood from the chair, I found my father standing in the doorway.  Pa knew, but I had no words of comfort to give.  I rushed past Pa and within minutes I had Cochise saddled, and I was racing away from the house, from my father, from Hoss.  I rode fast and hard and when I hit my destination, I ran, nearly sliding down the rocks to the spot we’d loved best.  Some would say I’d done an injustice to my father, leaving him as I had, but Pa understood.  And as I sat on the edge of the ravine and gazed down at the lake below, I knew I had to be strong.  It was just the two of us now, but how would we ever survive without Hoss?

Oct. 17, 1872

My birthday’s at the end of this month.  I’ve asked Pa not to make a big deal this year.  Birthdays mean a lot to my father, but celebrating this pointless milestone seems unnecessary when there’s just Pa and me.

Oct. 30, 1872

My father is one of a kind.  I wouldn’t even know where to begin if I was asked to explain what this man means to me.  He knows me better than anyone in this world does, and I’d like to say I know him just as well.  We’ve been through a lot together during these 31 years of my life. We’ve laughed and cried, and somehow Pa had taken into account that there was still joy to be had in this world.

Tonight, my father had to drag me back into the house after asking me if I planned to spend all night in the barn.  I chuckled at his comment, even though I was tempted to make my bed right inside the stall.

He’d respected my wishes and instead of a celebration, and one of Hop Sing’s brightly lit birthday cakes, my father gave me a gift I will cherish forever—the king of all horses—a majestic black stallion.  I’d only seen one other animal in my entire life that compared to the magnificent beauty of this horse.

I still have a vivid memory, as clear as if it was yesterday, of standing at my bedroom window, watching, but not believing the events taking place at the corral down below.   My father had instructed Adam to let the stallion go, to send him back off to the herd.  The horse I’d captured alone and brought home, the animal I wasn’t allowed to keep.

I was sixteen years old, and the most important lesson I learned that day was life was unfair.  As Pa tried to explain why this had to be done, I tried not to listen.  He’d used words like reasonable and wary, common sense, and fear.  I’d closed myself off to him and even more to my brother, Adam.

But time has a way of healing all wounds.  I didn’t stay mad forever; I guess because life got in the way.  So, here we are now, a lifetime later.  I know, deep in my heart, Pa is only trying to ease the pain of the previous year, even though it wasn’t only me who’d suffered.  Maybe he was making up for the stallion he’d sent back to the herd when I was just a boy.

The “why” didn’t matter. The gift—the stallion—was a symbol of my father’s love.  I treasure the horse, but I treasure my father so much more.

The End

7 – 2012