~ A New Beginning ~

by jfclover
~~~

“Telegram for you, Mr. Cartwright.”

I reached into my pocket for a nickel and handed it to the young boy who’d come running toward me. “Thanks, Carl.” I started to open the envelope and then remembered the kid had become the sole support of his family after his father was killed in a mining accident. “Carl?”

“Yessir?”

I knew he wouldn’t accept charity, so I had to think fast. “Are you busy right now?

“No, sir.”

“Would you like to earn yourself a shiny new dollar?”

“A whole dollar? You bet I would.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out three letters for Adam. “Would you have time to take these letters to the post office and give them to Mr. Oliver to mail?”

“Yessir. I sure would.”

“Okay. Here’s three cents for the letters and here’s a dollar for your trouble.”

“Thanks, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Don’t spend it all in one place, ya hear?”

“I won’t, Mr. Cartwright,” he said, fingering the shiny coin. “I don’t believe it. I never had a whole dollar before.”

I pulled the telegram from the envelope, still smiling as young Carl ran like the wind down the wooden boardwalk. I finally looked down at the small, yellow paper I held in my hand. I read it once—I read it again. “Fire—”

Pa sat behind his desk; his eyes focused on the ledgers when I flew through the front door calling his name. I started to speak and he held up his hand, signaling me to wait. “I think you’ll want to read this, Pa. It’s from San Francisco.” Pa looked up. He set his pencil down and I handed him the wire.

“`

Ben Cartwright, Ponderosa Ranch, Nevada (stop)

Fire at Collier and Cartwright (stop)

Adam is alive, Jackson missing (stop)

Recovering at Sisters of Mercy Hospital (stop)

1. Collier, San Francisco (stop)

“`

“Adam—” Hoss whispered, as he stood reading over my father’s shoulder.

I leaned forward, steadying my fingertips on Pa’s desk. “I’ll leave right now, Pa. I can be there in just a few days.”

“Sit down, Joseph.”

I let out a long sigh. “What then?”

“Let’s think for a minute before any of us go running off to San Francisco.”

“What’s there to think about? Adam’s hurt.”

“I know that Joseph. Just settle down and let me think.”

I couldn’t understand why we were wasting time when Adam was injured, and as far as the severity of the fire, we had no clue. The telegram didn’t tell us enough about the situation and I was ready to ride not sit here forever figuring out what to do.

“We can’t all go,” Pa said.

“I’ll go,” I said.

“Joseph, please.”

I stared at my father knowing he’d be the one to go, leaving Hoss and me here to run the ranch. I could argue all day, but I’d lose the battle. “Enough said—end of discussion,” would be my father’s words.

Pa reread the telegram as if new and different words would stand out on the small sheet of paper. Finally, he laid it down on his desk and stood up.

“All right, Joseph, you go.”

“Me?” Surprised was an understatement. “Okay.”

“There’s a stage leaving for San Francisco tomorrow afternoon. Hoss and I will manage here while you’re gone.”

I glanced up at Hoss, who got the short end of the stick this time. Pa would be anxious and totally out of sorts until I sent word of Adam’s condition. Life for Hoss would be a definite challenge while I was gone.

I’d been shaken and bounced, knocked constantly against the inside door of the stage, and all the while, a woman’s young son cried and carried on most of the way across California. I was ready to set foot on solid ground. I exited the coach first, but Pa taught me to be a gentleman, and since I didn’t see anyone meet mother and child, I slapped a smile on my face and waited patiently so I could help the poor woman and her son off the stage. I realized she looked as tired and as miserable as I felt, so I asked if she needed help getting to a hotel or maybe I could hail a cab for her, but she said she could manage—thanked me and she and her son moved quickly across the busy cobblestone street.

I’d done my duty as a gentleman, so I picked up my satchel and asked the nearest person walking toward me where the Sisters of Mercy Hospital was located. I was surprised to find out I was only blocks away. I had planned to rent a horse but maybe I wouldn’t need one if I could secure lodging close to the hospital.

I started walking. It had been years since I’d been to San Francisco, but I do remember coming out with Pa and Hoss when I was around sixteen or seventeen years old. Pa was so protective of us boys in those days, so worried we’d end up shanghaied, and as it turned out, he ended up the one being snatched and almost sent off on a little vacation at sea. I chuckled remembering how the three of us handled the group of sailors determined to take Pa away. They’d never run into anything like the three Cartwrights or Hop Sing for that matter.

Sisters of Mercy

The sign above the double front doors confirmed I’d reached my destination. I probably should have dropped my bag at a hotel first but I was anxious to see my brother.

“Adam Cartwright?” I inquired when I reached the front desk.

“Are you a relative?”

“He’s my brother,” I answered the woman who was covered from head to toe in white.

“Right this way, Mr. Cartwright.”

The corridor was filled with people moving in both directions. I followed her down to a large room—a ward—lined with beds and filled to capacity. I saw only men in this room and figured there must be another similar ward for women. There were two rows of beds with a long center aisle. She put her finger to her lips, insisting on silence as we entered the room. With her back to me, I rolled my eyes. Did she think I’d planned a song and dance routine?

I recognized Adam halfway down the aisle. A sheet, along with a thin wool blanket, was pulled up, covering his legs and chest. Only his face and a new addition—a full beard—appeared. When we stopped at the foot of his bed, I waited for the nurse to say something, but all she did was nod her head toward my brother, who lay there sound asleep, then she quietly tiptoed back down the aisle and out of the room.

I sat my bag on the floor at the foot of the bed, laid my hat on top, then slipped in between the neatly lined beds and sat down near the foot of Adam’s. I felt like an intruder. I was the only able-bodied person in the room—no other visitors or staff members—just me.

“Adam?” I whispered, remembering her cue to keep quiet. I could make out my brother’s form, and I rested my hand lightly on his arm; he began to stir. His eyelids fluttered at first and then opened, leaving narrow slits as he studied me, although he looked unsure of whom he was seeing.

“Adam?” I said again.

“Joe? Is Pa—”

“No, just me.” His voice was weak and I wasn’t sure whether to ask questions or not. “You okay?”

I didn’t get an answer only a throaty grunt. “What the heck happened?”

“Fire—”

Adam was either exhausted or he’d been given some kind of medication. His words were heavy and forced. “I should come back later,” I said. His dark lashes fell to his cheeks as his eyes slowly closed. “Let you sleep—” I was too late. He’d already drifted off.

I picked up my hat and bag and walked quietly down the aisle of the ward then started down the long hallway, the same way I’d come in. I stopped one of the nurses, the same woman who’d guided me in. Only a portion of her face showed between the high collar and the large, white hat with wings on either side that rested just above her eyebrows.

“Excuse me, ma’am … um miss, is there a doctor I could talk to about my brother?”

She was maybe half my size but when she scrunched up her face in such a severe manner, I took a small step back, a bit frightened. “Sister,” she said.

“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am. I mean, sister.”

“Right this way, Mr. Cartwright,” she said, shaking her head. It was the same woman, sister. She remembered my name. “Thank you,” I said.

She led me to a room not too far down the hallway. “Have a seat, Mr. Cartwright. The doctor will be here shortly. He’s just finishing rounds and he can tell you more about your brother’s condition than I’m able.”

“Thank you.”

Again, I set my bag and my hat on the floor and I sat down in the only available chair. The office was stark; white plaster walls, with only the dark, wooden desk for contrast. A diploma hung on one wall and a plaster Jesus, pale and bleeding, on another. I’d only sat there long enough to notice those things before the doctor walked into the room.

I stood and extended my hand. “Joe Cartwright, Doctor.” He was tall like Adam only blonde and fair—a young man for a doctor, maybe my age. I’d been so used to old, white-headed men, and I was taken aback at first.

“Jonathan Mills, Mr. Cartwright, glad you could come.” He shook my hand. He had a firm grip and an easygoing demeanor. “Have a seat,” he said, taking a seat behind his desk.

“Call me Joe or this could be confusing, doc.”

“All right, Joe.”

Before I could ask about Adam, a nurse walked in and handed us each a mug of coffee. I didn’t normally drink mine black, but it would have to do. I took a small sip and looked up at the doctor.

“So, what can you tell me about my brother?”

He set his cup down and leaned forward. “Your brother’s a lucky man, Mr. Cartwright.”

“How’s that?”

“He’s alive.”

He had my attention. “Was the fire that bad?”

“Practically the entire building and the building adjacent were destroyed. Your brother was lucky to get out alive.”

“And his partner, Mr. Collier?” I asked. The doctor looked down at his desk. He didn’t answer right off. I remembered the wire saying he was missing. Adam had told us early on that Jackson had a wife and a child. What would happen to them now?

“I don’t know. He wasn’t brought here.”

“I see.”

“Your brother will sleep for a while,” Mills said, looking back up at me. “I’d just given him something for pain, not knowing if, or when, a family member might arrive. My suggestion is that you visit the police station. It’s right down the block. I think they may be able to tell you more than I can about this whole situation.

“Okay—” His comment struck me as odd, but I was a visitor to the city and maybe this is how things worked. “One more question if I may. Is there a hotel close by? I could sure use a bath and a shave.”

The doctor smiled. “Yes, there is. Turn left out the front door. The Majestic is about five blocks up the hill.”

After I picked up my bag and hat from the floor, I shook the man’s hand. “When’s a good time for me to come back, Doc?”

“I’d give your brother another two or three hours. It will be time for the orderlies to serve supper and he’ll be coherent by then, long enough to eat at least, but I’ll administer his evening medication soon after he’s finished his meal.”

“I best be on my way then. Thanks for all your help.”

The Majestic was a nice enough hotel. I knew there were fancier places around the city, but this was close to the hospital, and with Pa not along, this suited me just fine. The bathwater was sent up promptly, although I didn’t have time to just lay back and soak in the steaming hot water as I wanted, I lathered up, rinsed, and got dressed. I needed to talk to the police and get back to the hospital as quickly as possible.

I was introduced to a detective, Max O’Hara, who’d been assigned to Adam’s case, and after a short greeting, he had me follow him into his office. There was no coffee served this time and I could have used a cup—I was starting to fade from the day’s events. Mr. O’Hara didn’t mess with words. He got right to the point, explaining what information he’d gathered so far.

“As of now, Mr. Cartwright, we believe the fire was an act of arson.”

“Who—who set the fire?”

“Everything points to Mr. Collier, your brother’s partner.”

Mr. O’Hara gave me a minute for the information to sink in. “Jackson Collier? Are you saying he tried to kill my brother?”

“That’s exactly right, son, although he may have had a change of heart and saved your brother’s life after all.”

“So you’re saying he knew Adam would be in the building when he set the fire?” I’d always thought Jackson and Adam were such close friends. Why in God’s name would he try to kill him?

“We think he might have set the fire and then rushed back inside to save your brother. We have a witness who thought he saw Mr. Collier running away from the building and then running back in, even though the entire structure was in flames by that time.”

“I don’t know what to say, Detective. I’m at a loss here.”

“That’s what we believe happened,” O’Hara said, although hesitantly. “Now, we have no definite proof and we haven’t been able to locate Mr. Collier as of yet. It’s just theory right now.”

“So he’s alive.”

“We think so.”

“Do you know why? Why would he?” I was missing something here. Two plus two wasn’t adding up.

“I was hoping maybe you could fill me in, Mr. Cartwright.”

“No,” I said, trying to think how this could be true. “I thought they were best friends.”

“Well, after interviewing his wife, Mrs. Annabelle Collier, we found out some pertinent information concerning her husband.”

“And—”

“She explained how distraught, how troubled he’d been since receiving a certain letter.”

“A letter? Letter from whom?”

“Well, Mr. Cartwright.” He seemed to hesitate and he stared down at the notes he had placed on his desk. All I could see was his rusty-colored hair with a touch of gray at the temples until he looked back up at me and continued. “Mrs. Collier said her husband had received a letter, maybe six months ago, from the Nevada State Prison stating that Mr. Collier’s father along with several other inmates had escaped.”

Two plus two was adding up nicely now. “Go on, Detective.”

“She told me, Mr. Collier had believed his mother and father had died some thirty years ago, an epidemic I believe, and he knew nothing about his father’s prison sentence or why he’d been sentenced until he made the necessary inquiries.”

I looked straight at O’Hara. It wasn’t too tough to figure out what was coming next. “I assume you can guess the outcome of Mr. Collier’s inquiries without me stating what his wife told me, can’t you?”

I nodded. “He knows I’m the one who killed his father. Is that what comes next?”

“That’s right, Mr. Cartwright.” He cleared his throat. “We believe he may have wanted to kill your brother to get back at you, but remember now, it’s only a theory.”

“It makes perfect sense, doesn’t it, Detective—an eye for an eye?”

“I wish I had all the answers, son. In any case, there’s always the possibility he set the fire and then had second thoughts, I mean, maybe Mr. Collier had a conscience after all.” O’Hara leaned forward over his desk. “Now, this is only speculation you understand, but if I was you, and until this man’s found and questioned,” O’Hara paused, making sure he had my attention, “I’d watch my back.”

“Thanks for the information and the warning, Detective.” I let out a deep breath. “I’m staying at The Majestic if you should find out anything more—or I could check back.” I stood up to leave. “Right now, I need to get back to the hospital and see my brother.”

“I have men canvassing the area for leads, Mr. Cartwright, and they’re on constant lookout, but as I said before, stay sharp.”

I started walking toward the hospital, and with all that had gone on today, all the new information to absorb, and then trying to figure out a way to tell Adam, I realized I’d never even asked the doctor how badly Adam had been hurt. His face looked fine but he was covered from head to toe with a blanket. I should stop somewhere and wire Pa and Hoss, but I don’t have enough information yet. It would have to wait until after my visit tonight.

When I stopped at the front desk, I noticed a young lady, a very attractive young lady, talking to the same nurse who had taken me to see Adam earlier this afternoon. I was formally introduced to Miss Abigail Collier. “You came,” she said with a smile. “I wired your family.”

All along, I thought Jackson’s wife had sent the telegram. Now I realized it was his sister. Annabelle was his wife and Abigail was his sister. If I could keep that straight, I’d be in good shape.

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Collier,” I said. I didn’t know if she hated me as much as her brother did or not.

“Please call me Abby,” she said, in a sweet, pleasant voice.

“I will, Abby, if you’ll call me Joe.”

I turned to the nurse. “Is my brother awake?”

“The patients are being served supper, Mr. Cartwright. I would appreciate it if you and Miss Collier would wait out here and not cause extra confusion in the ward until the men have a chance to finish.”

“Is there somewhere the two of us could sit and wait?”

“Right this way.”

I glanced at Abby and smiled as the nurse marched us down the hallway to a waiting room. She seemed glad to be rid of us and anxious to get back to whatever she’d been doing before the interruption.

Abby walked in first, but I turned to the nurse with the wings on her hat. “I just wanted to thank you for your time, ma’am.”

“Sister,” she huffed.

“That’s right, Sister. My apologies again. I know how busy you must be with hospitals so understaffed and patients demanding this and that, and then to have the two of us come in a disrupt your whole routine, well, I’m—I’m grateful for people like you, who offer so much for such little reward.”

“You’re very kind, Mr. Cartwright,” she said, sporting a smile instead of a frown. “It’s a privilege to be of service to you. You just let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

“Thank you again, Sister.”

When I entered the waiting room, Miss Abigail Collier was already sitting at a small table with her hand covering her mouth. She looked up at me and a slight chuckle slipped out.

“What?” I said.

“You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you, Mr. Cartwright?”

“Joe,” I said. “Call me Joe.”

“Okay, Joe.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Is that how you treat all the ladies?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Coffee?”

There was a stove off to the far side of the room and a coffee pot sat on top. I took a chance that there was something warm left in the pot and poured us each a cup. I placed a mug in front of Abby and I sat down across from her, my cup still in my hand.

What should I say to her? Should I apologize for killing her father? Did her brother tell her the whole story? I was relieved when she started the conversation.

“I want to apologize for my brother not being here, Joe,” she said, after sipping the coffee. “I can only imagine how distraught he must be after hearing about the fire.”

I was caught off guard by her statement and not quite sure how to respond. “I’m sorry things turned out as they did,” I said. There was a brief silence and then she continued.

“I need to find Jackson. I need to know he’s safe. He was so upset over—I haven’t seen him since the fire and I don’t know if he’s hurt or where he’s gone.” She glanced through the doorway and then back at me. “I thought maybe Adam would know something and I came here to ask.”

Abby pulled a handkerchief from a small, drawstring bag and dabbed her watery eyes. It was obvious O’Hara hadn’t told her what he and his team suspected happened at Collier and Cartwright, and I have to assume she has no clue as to her brother’s involvement.

“Have you talked to the police, Abby?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t. I’m—I’m just too upset over this whole ordeal. I worked there too, Joe, and now with Jackson gone and Adam hurt—and with the firm and everything in it burnt to the ground, well, all of us are out of a job, I mean, well I guess what I mean is there’s no means of support—no money coming in.” Again, she dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling my troubles to a total stranger. It’s just so—”

It may have been the wrong thing to do, but I laid my hand on her arm. “I’m sorry this is so hard for you. I’m sure your brother will turn up sooner than you think.”

“There’s more, Joe.” Again, she wiped at her eyes. I gently squeezed her arm and waited for her to say more. I wondered if she knew about the letters Jackson had received after his inquiries. Surely, she had to know. They must have discussed it at some point and I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to hear what else she might have to say. “I hate to ask—”

“Go on,” I said, taking my hand away.

“My father,” she said, “was killed, and I—did you? I mean, were you part of the posse who killed my father?”

There it was. She knew the whole story, and now she wanted to hear all the gory details of his capture or demise from me. I fidgeted with my hat under the table.

“Um—well, I wasn’t part of the posse exactly, although at the time, my father and my other brother, Hoss, were.” How could I say this? How could I tell her I was lured to a line shack, only to end up killing her father before he killed me?

“You see—when I found your father, he was hiding out in a cabin on the Ponderosa, that’s where we live, but I’m sure Adam has mentioned that.” Geez—I was rambling. I didn’t want to give this young lady the horrid details. No matter what I said to her, this man was her father, and nothing I said would matter other than the fact that he was dead and I was the reason why.

“He wore prison clothes,” I continued, “and I gathered he was an escaped convict and was hiding out, so when I entered the cabin—well, there was kind of a struggle between your father and me and—and the gun went off and—”

“I see,” she said, not wanting or needing me to finish.

I’d been stumbling for the right words, just enough to get by without telling her everything. I’d never hated a man like I’d hated Harold Collier and I figured the less said the better.

“I’m sorry it happened that way. If I could have taken him back alive, I—” Just shut up Joe. Enough said.

As soon as Adam was well, and Jackson was found and thrown behind bars for attempted murder, I would magically disappear from San Francisco and head back to the Ponderosa, leaving the Collier business behind.

Where was Jackson now and how much effort was being put forth to find him? He could be miles away, but he could also be right here in the city, waiting and watching my every move.

What would Adam do now? His partner tried to kill him, and even if I’d been the ultimate reason; it was still a difficult situation. There would be headlines and bad press, not to mention the office was gone—there’d be no more Collier and Cartwright, so what would come next? The Cartwright Firm? Would it be possible for Adam to continue?

I looked up from my musings and Abby was staring at me. “You don’t look like a murderer, Joe Cartwright.”

I swallowed hard. “Thank you. I’m not.” But if I were, I would have murdered your father ten times over.

“But you killed my father.”

“It was self-defense, Abby, the gun was between us—we struggled—it fired. Your father’s finger was on the trigger.”

“I see—”

“Do you believe me?”

“I have to, don’t I?”

“I don’t have to but it is the truth.” She looked disturbed by what I tried to say without giving up too much information.

“So did you and my father have a disagreement or—”

“A disagreement? No—he escaped from prison, Abby. He was holed up on our ranch. We struggled—the gun went off—and he was dead.”

“So are you saying you wanted my father to die?” Yes—yes—yes—more than anything else in this world, but in good conscience, I couldn’t say those words to that madman’s daughter. “Joe?”

“If it was a choice between him and me, Abby, then yes, I didn’t want to die.”

She looked away. Part of me understood her pain. If it had been my father— How could I explain? I needed to choose my words carefully. “When was the last time you saw your father?”

“I was a girl, the summer I turned ten.”

“And do you know why your father was sent to prison?”

“It’s so confusing, Joe. Jackson and I were visiting with my aunt and uncle in Boston that summer. We were told our ma and pa died from an outbreak of cholera, and then—then to hear such lies—lies about my father—I don’t know who or what to believe.”

God, would she ever believe the truth? She loved her father and maybe Jackson did too. They’d been told lies to protect them as young children, and maybe that was for the best. “Are your aunt and uncle still alive?”

“My Uncle Henry is, but Auntie Rose died years ago.”

“It might help if you wrote your uncle and asked him to tell you the truth.”

“I already know the truth, Mr. Cartwright, and I won’t believe lies about my father.”

That was up to her, I guess. She would always hate me for killing her father. That was a given. Did Jackson also think it was a lie? Did he think his father was wrongfully accused? I knew what wrongfully accused was all about but I sure wasn’t going to fill Abby or Jackson in on my prior obligation to the state of Nevada.

“Maybe we should discuss all of this another time. I need to see Adam before Dr. Mills sedates him again.”

“I came to see Adam too, Joe.”

“Well, good then. Let’s both say hello.”

I stood up and reached my hand out for Abby. Her scent and the graceful way she stood up from the chair, then rested her delicate fingers in my hand made me realize how long it had been since I’d even thought about a woman much less touched one.

This was crazy. This woman hated me, and according to what she believed, she had good reason. I tried to brush the feelings away. But were they so wrong? Was it only because I was away from Virginia City, and the watchful eyes of her citizens, that I could touch a woman without people staring and shaking their heads in disgust?

As easily as I’d held her hand only moments ago, I stepped away, letting her lead us to Adam’s ward. As I followed her down the hallway, I couldn’t help gazing at this delicate lady, whose hips moved almost sensually, bringing about the gentle swishing of crinoline under her long-pleated walking skirt. She stopped, peeked into the ward, and nodded.

Adam was sitting up in bed with a tray placed on his lap. He glanced up and saw us both coming toward him. Not that Adam’s face gave away much to begin with, and now with the full beard, I wasn’t sure if he was smiling or not.

I couldn’t help but grin as we got closer. I let Abby slip in on the left side of his bed and I moved to the right. I needed a little distance from her if I wanted to concentrate on the reason I was here. “Hello, big brother.”

“Hello yourself, little brother,” he said and then turned his head. “Abigail.”

Adam’s voice sounded raspy and raw and I didn’t know if it was wise for him to be talking or not. If he couldn’t talk or didn’t want to talk, knowing my brother as well as I did, he would stop when he needed to. “So, tell me, Adam, are you okay? I mean, what the heck happened?” I couldn’t say too much about Jackson and the fire with Abby sitting right there listening, but I did need to hear Adam’s version.

“The doctor tells me I’m healing quite nicely, considering.”

“Considering?”

“It wasn’t so much the burns, of which I have a few sensitive areas still, but it was the smoke inhalation that caused most of the doctor’s concern.”

“And—”

“And it’s my lungs, Joe. I’m breathing evenly now, much better than before. I think the big scare is over though the damage is done.”

“I’m sorry, Adam.” Adam looked up; his eyebrows knitted together and his eyes narrowed. “What?” I said.

“Were you here earlier today?”

“Yeah, but you were kind of out of it.” Adam motioned at me to take his empty tray, and all I could think to do was to set it down on the floor at the foot of the bed.

“Thanks,” he said, letting out a long breath, but then he started coughing and couldn’t seem to control the sudden attack. I tried to sit him up straighter, thinking that might help.

“You okay?”

He nodded, but the cough continued. He pointed to the tray. I scooted to the far end of the bed and grabbed the glass of water. “Here,” I said. He drank heartily and the cough finally subsided. “Better?”

“Much,” he said, nodding.

“I can come back tomorrow if you’d rather not talk tonight.”

“I’m fine now.” He patted the side of his bed. “Sit,” he said. “Talk to me.”

Adam’s words were short and to the point, and I figured he wasn’t up for a repeat performance. He wanted to hear everything about the ranch, but I would save most of that for later. I’d just throw in bits and pieces for now.

“You know how Pa is. He sent me to town every day last week to pick up mail when your scheduled letter hadn’t arrived.” Adam started to smile. “Yeah, don’t give me that look. You know exactly what I went through.” Adam nodded. “I’d sent you a couple of telegrams and heard nothing back, so I was going to have to tell Pa that something wasn’t right, and that just happened to be the day Abby’s telegram arrived.”

“You know about the fire, right?” He glanced at Abby and she nodded her head.

“Some,” I said. I wasn’t sure what Adam had been told. “How bad was it?”

“Not sure, Joe. Pulled from the fire—then here.”

“You’re a lucky man, Adam. My brother was struggling to breathe but I had to ask anyhow. “Who pulled you out?”

“Don’t know.” I wondered if Jackson had second thoughts about killing my brother although it could have easily been a city fireman or someone else who saw the fire—who knows. “Painkillers,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Not sure about anything.”

I glanced at Abby. Exactly why was she here? My brother didn’t seem excited about seeing her so that ruled out any kind of romance or close friendship between the two of them.

“I should probably let you sleep, brother.”

“Where are you staying, Little Joe?” Abby was quick to pick up on my brother’s choice of words and she looked at me quizzically.

“Little Joe?”

“Just a nickname,” I quickly added. “I’m checked in at The Majestic, Adam.”

“You can stay at my place, you know.”

“Maybe when you are released I will but for now I’ll stay put.”

I saw Doctor Mills coming our way. “Looks like you’re heading for la-la land, big brother.”

Adam began to laugh, but the cough started up immediately. I reached for the glass on the tray, but it was empty. “I’ll get more water.” Adam couldn’t speak, but his head bobbed up and down. I took off down the aisle carrying the empty glass with me and at the far end of the ward sat a pitcher of water. I could only hope it was fresh and would settle his cough like it had last time around.

I rushed back and handed Adam the glass. He drank. The cough was brought to an end, and he leaned his head back against pillows propped up behind him. He looked exhausted.

The doctor stood next to the bed with another glass although his water looked chalky, and I knew he’d already mixed in some sleeping powders for Adam. “He’ll rest easy now, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Thanks, Doc.” Adam looked up. His face was pale and his eyes were barely open. He looked miserable. In our household, it was usually me in the sickbed, not my brother so this was a complete turnabout for the two of us. “I’ll be back tomorrow. You sleep now.”

Abby also stood when the doctor arrived. I placed my hand on the small of her back and guided her out of the ward. Again, the simple touch, the closeness of a woman. Was it this young lady or was it the fact that it had been so long? I didn’t even know.

We walked through the front door of the hospital and stepped onto the sidewalk below. “Do you live far from here?”

“Not really,” she said. “Just a few blocks.”

“Well, you can’t walk alone in the dark. Shall I get you a cab?”

“I’d much rather walk, Joe.”

“Then I’ll walk with you.”

She smiled up at me. “Thank you.” The night air was pleasant, and after being on the stage until noon today, and then in hospitals and police stations most of the afternoon, I was more than happy to be outside.

I took a deep breath. “I love the smell of salt air.”

“I don’t notice it anymore.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“I moved out here shortly after Jackson had his business up and running, and he knew he would be staying for the long haul. There wasn’t much reason for me to stay in Boston. I like it here. It feels like home now.”

“It’s a great city. I’m sure you’ll be happy here for a long time.”

“Well, right now I’m out of a job. I was a secretary for Jackson and your brother so I don’t exactly know what’s—” Sobbing, she turned her back to me.

“Abby. What can I do to help?”

She looked so sad, so fragile. “Find my brother,” she said.

We continued walking but slower until we made it to her flat, a long row of houses with brackets holding up flat roofs. Maybe that’s where they got the name “flat.” They were very different than what I was used to but I liked all the various styles, one attached to another. It was unique.

“So you have neighbors on either side?”

“Yes.”

I guess my question seemed odd to her. I wasn’t a city boy and I was just trying to learn the ropes. “Kind of like a boarding house but you each have a separate front door, right?”

“Sort of, but everyone has their own parlor and water closet too. Nothing is shared like a boarding house.”

“I see.” I didn’t expect her to invite me in even though I was dying to see what a flat looked like inside, but it wouldn’t have been proper if she had, so I waited until she unlocked her front door, and I said goodnight.

“Thanks for walking me home, Joe.”

“My pleasure.” I tipped my hat and turned to leave. I figured our paths would cross again, especially if I did as she asked and looked for her brother, that’s if he didn’t find me first.

I had a long walk back to The Majestic, and I wondered if Adam lived in a flat too, and would I pass it along the way? The night air was balmy and the lingering smell of the sea made it an enjoyable walk even if my boots were undeniably made for riding, not walking.

It had been an exhausting day and I fell into bed as soon as I got to my room, realizing a little too late, I hadn’t eaten since breakfast at the way station early this morning. My stomach growled but I was too tired to do anything about it. Besides, who would be serving food at this time of night?

I’d packed clean shirts and trousers, but I’d forgotten a nightshirt. I thought about the fire and kept my long johns on, pulled the blanket up over my shoulders, and within minutes, I was fast asleep.

Steely gray clouds draped low to the ground as I walked to the telegraph office before stopping for breakfast. Pa would be beside himself since I hadn’t sent a message off yesterday. There really wasn’t too much I could say, not really knowing Adam’s condition or when he would be released to go home, but anything was better than nothing as far as Pa, or poor Hoss, was concerned.

I found a small café on the way to the hospital and stopped in for a bite to eat before seeing Adam. “I’ll have steak and eggs, ma’am, and potatoes and gravy, with a side of biscuits, oh and if you have any fresh fruit—” Her eyes widened and I wondered if I’d said something wrong. “Or—or maybe you could suggest something else.”

“Oh no, sir, coming right up.”

“Thank you.”

I’d picked up a copy of the San Francisco Chronicle. I had time to glance at the headlines while I waited for my breakfast, then I’d take it to Adam, knowing he’d read cover to cover, every word printed on every single page.

Breakfast was served in a matter of minutes, and I folded the newspaper and dug into my meal, which the young lady brought on two separate plates. I was starving, and this was food fit for a king. After mopping up the last speck of gravy with my biscuit and polishing off the last of my coffee, I reached inside my jacket for my wallet.

The young lady, dressed smartly, although her apron covered most of her dress, came and stood next to my table. “I didn’t think anyone could eat that much food,” she said.

“You haven’t met my big brother, Ma’am. This is just an appetizer for him.”

“Oh my.”

I smiled and handed her the price of the meal and a little extra. “Thank you, Ma’am. You have a nice day.”

“You too, Mr.—”

“Cartwright, Joe Cartwright.”

“Kathryn Lemont,” she said. “My father owns the restaurant and most people call me Kate. Mr. Cartwright?”

“Yes.”

“Are you any relation to Adam Cartwright?”

“Yeah, he’s my brother. Why?”

“I heard about the fire. Is he all right?”

“Yes, Ma’am—or he will be. Do you know my brother?” That was a dumb question. Of course, she did.

“Adam and Mr. Collier used to come in for breakfast most mornings, and then during the last few weeks it was just your brother who came by.”

I noticed her use of Adam’s first name. I wasn’t born yesterday. I’d heard it plain and clear. The food was delicious but it was more than knowing Adam “I could tell him you send your best, that’s if you—”

“That would be nice, Mr. Cartwright.”

“Just Joe, Ma’am.” I tipped my hat.

She smiled. “It was nice to meet you, Joe.”

I was off to the hospital with new little tidbits of my brother’s personal life swirling around in my head. I didn’t have anything for Adam except the newspaper and, of course, a friendly greeting from Kate. What a lovely lady she was, but getting Adam to open up, to tell me if there was a little romance between the two wouldn’t be high on his list.

I needed to see what else Adam might need, like maybe some clothes if his had been ruined in the fire. The beard was new, but knowing my brother, it probably just grew because he’d been a week without a razor. Heck, I could probably still go a week and no one could tell the difference.

No one was watching the front desk so I wandered back to the ward, hoping I wasn’t breaking any hospital rules. Adam was sitting up with his hands in his lap, looking as bored as I would’ve been had our situations been reversed.

“Hey, brother,” I said.

“Oh, good, you brought the paper.”

“Is that all I’m good for, a delivery boy?” My brother chuckled slightly and I waited for the coughing attack, but it didn’t come. “Hey, no cough.”

“So far, so good,” he said. I sat on the edge of the bed while Adam glanced at the front-page headlines then he laid the paper aside. “Doctor Mills was in earlier, and he says I can go home tomorrow now that you’re here to nurse me back to health.”

“Nurse? You wanna rephrase that? You know I ain’t about to wear one of those hats with wings.”

“I’m sorry—how about the caretaker?”

“That’s better.”

“So, do you mind giving up your fancy hotel and staying with me for a few days? It won’t be quite as comfortable. I only have one bed.”

“Do you live in a flat?”

“Yes, why?”

“Just wondered.”

Doctor Mills was tending to one of the other men in the ward and he’d glanced my way when I’d walked in. When he finished with his patient, he walked down the narrow aisle and gave me a friendly greeting. “Good to see you, Mr. Cartwright.”

“I hear you’re letting the old man out tomorrow.”

“Old man?”

“Old,” I repeated. “It’ll take a lot of babying on my part to get him back on his feet again.” My brother rolled his eyes but didn’t feel the need to comment. “So, you better give both of us instructions for his care because he won’t listen to a thing I say.”

“I think you have this a bit backward, little brother. You’ve always been the one who won’t follow doctor’s orders, not me.”

The doctor smiled. “Not many instructions except to lay low for the next week or so. I suggest you take a cab home and not try to walk these streets for a while. Your lungs are still healing, as are the burns so I wouldn’t rush things. Take it slow and easy.”

“That I can do, Doctor.”

“And I’ll make sure he does.”

“Very good,” Mills said. “I’ll send home some extra dressings for the burns and release you tomorrow morning.”

I sat back down on the bed when the doctor was finished examining Adam. It didn’t take long; he’d fixed his stethoscope in his ears, listened to my brother’s lungs, and said, “Better,” and that was it. He moved on to the next man across the aisle.

I didn’t know what all Adam knew about the fire or whether he had any idea where Jackson would be. Had he been told anything? Since Jackson wasn’t a patient in the ward, did he think his friend had died in the fire?

“Well,” Adam said, crossing his arms over his chest. “What are your plans for today?”

“I’m not sure. Tell me what you remember about the fire.”

He blew out a long breath. “Not much, Joe.”

“But what—”

Adam flattened his palms against the mattress, pushing himself up a little taller in the bed. “I was working late that night. Jackson and I had a deadline to meet, but he said he’d promised Annabelle dinner out, so I told him to go ahead. I would finish up. It must have been a couple of hours after he left when the fire broke out.”

I saw a look—anxious, maybe frightened—a look I’d never seen on my brother’s face before as he relived the events of that night. “Anything else?”

“The office burned fast, much too fast. I rolled up my drawings and the blueprints I was working on, and ran towards the office door. I was on the second floor, where we’d designed long, built-in tables along each wall so we could lay everything out and not have to gather up our drawings and put them away at the end of the day. We can have several projects going at once that way.”

“Makes sense. Always knew you were the smart one.”

“Yes, well, I’ll admit it was very efficient,” he said.

Adam was proud of his work and the way the office had been set up. My guess was it had been his idea to do things this way, but while I was thinking of how hard my brother had worked to make C and C a success, he was recalling the rest of the night.

“Something fell before I could get out the door, knocked me out—a beam, I suppose—a ceiling beam. I never made it—”

“Is that all you remember?”

“Yeah, just about, although—”

“What?”

“I could swear I saw someone. The smoke was thick. I’m just not sure what or who might’ve—”

His voice dropped off. I knew Adam was thinking hard, trying to remember. Lines etched his forehead. I didn’t know whether to tell him what I’d heard from Max O’Hara or let him try to remember on his own. Nothing had been proven so maybe it was better left unsaid.

“Has Jackson been in to see you?”

“To tell you the truth, Joe, you’re the first person I remember being here. The doctors had me on so much medication, I don’t remember much at all. Abigail was here with you yesterday, right?”

“Yeah. I met her at the front desk; we came in together.”

“Okay, at least I’m not losing my mind.”

“What?”

Adam shook his head. “I thought I was for a while—dreams—no nightmares,” he said with a slight grimace. “Now I know what you’ve gone through all these years, Joe, fighting the unknown and coming out the loser.”

I started to smile, but nightmares were nothing to smile about. “Tell me about the dreams,” I said.

“No,” Adam said. “They were just dreams.”

“Pa used to try to get me to remember. Most times I couldn’t but if you could—”

“If I could remember, I don’t think it would serve any purpose. Anyway, I can’t remember, so let’s drop it.”

“Okay. But if you do—”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

“Good. It’s settled.” If Adam could remember anything, it would help everyone understand what happened that night.

“I need you to do me a favor, Joe.”

“Sure, anything.”

Adam reached under his pillow and pulled out a small bag. Inside were his wallet and key to his house. “I need clothes,” he said, handing me the key and telling me his address along with directions on how to get there from here. “I seem to only have this hospital nightshirt and I don’t think the people of San Francisco want to see me walking the streets in this get-up.”

“You ain’t doing no walking anyway, big brother, but I will be glad to bring you some fresh clothes.”

The day was still young, and I’d left Adam to sleep before his trip home tomorrow. I wasn’t at all certain what I needed to do. I was anxious to see where Adam lived so that was first on my list. I left the hospital and walked down to The Majestic, checked out, and then with carpetbag in hand, I walked a mile or so to his flat.

Adam’s home had the same flat roof just like I figured it would, but it also had a flat front. It was like a straight up-and-down rectangle with neighbors on either side. I climbed the six stairs from street level and unlocked the front door, which had an elegant design etched into the frosted-glass window.

The house was narrow with a stairway along one wall. I carried my satchel and started up the first flight of stairs. This set led up to Adam’s bedroom, and then from the second floor, another set of stairs led to a small drawing room or maybe it was used for an attic. Adam didn’t have much in the way of furniture so the third floor was nearly empty and I figured it was a perfect place for me to camp out while I was here.

I suppose this was city life and maybe that’s what my brother liked. I wouldn’t last more than a single day in a place like this. I needed space around me and already, I felt like I needed to get back outside. I looked from one wall to the other thinking if Hoss was standing here with his arms spread out wide; I bet he could almost touch either side.

I stood in front of Adam’s wardrobe picking out an assortment of clothing, shirts, trousers, vest and jacket, clean long johns, and socks. I dumped the clothes from my small satchel on the floor of the attic, folded Adam’s, and then stacked them neatly inside.

I needed to head back to the hospital, but there was one more thing I needed to do before I took off walking again. I sat down on the wooden seat and after I finished my business, I reached up and pulled the chain. Water swished down the long brass pipe and the deed was done. We needed to modernize the Ponderosa.

I’d passed a burned-out shell of a building, and the one adjacent was nearly consumed too, on the way to Adam’s flat. I could only assume that’s what was left of Collier and Cartwright. I should have asked Adam for the address but it was the only blackened building close by so it had to be the one. Limestone blocks still stood in place so maybe there was a chance of rebuilding.

Realizing I should send off another telegram to Pa, telling him Adam would be coming home tomorrow, I chugged along, bag in hand. When I arrived, I handed the clerk Adam’s address and asked that any wires addressed to Cartwright be delivered there. I left a deposit and then headed back down the hill to the hospital. Life was sure easier on the back of a horse.

By the time I reached the hospital with my brother’s clothes, I knew I had worn blisters on both feet. This walking all day was for the birds. I plopped down on Adam’s bed and ran my hand through my sweaty hair. “I’m dead on my feet, Adam.”

He laughed. I didn’t think it was that funny. I’d been up and down stairs and up and down hills—heck there was nothing flat in this entire city. I was used to mountains and valleys but this was ridiculous.

“Tomorrow, I’ll show you an easier way to get around,” he said.

“This here’s your clothes.” I sat the bag on the bed and Adam started going through the clothing I’d brought.

“Boots?”

I let out a long sigh. I sure as heck wasn’t making that same trip again today. “Tomorrow.”

Adam looked up and I realized Doctor Mills was standing at the foot of his bed. “Since you have a suit of clothes, you might as well get on out of here, Mr. Cartwright. I don’t think another few hours are going to make much of a difference.”

“Really?” I said. “You okay with that, brother?”

“I can’t leave without boots, Joe.”

“Who cares? You ain’t walking anywhere anyway, right, Doc?”

“That’s right.”

“Come on, Adam, let’s get the heck outta here,” I said. “No offense, Doc.”

“None taken,” Mills said with a smile. “My only office is here in the hospital, Mr. Cartwright. I’d like you to stop back by in a week and let me check your breathing once more.”

“I guess that’s it then,” Adam said, sitting up even taller and extending his hand to the doctor. “Thank you for everything.”

As soon as Adam dressed, minus a pair of boots, and lucky for me that mine were too small or he would have demanded I hand them over, we walked out the front door of the building. As I’d helped him dress, I noticed how many bandages he had on his legs and his back. “Guess I have to change all these dressings for you, don’t I, Adam?”

“Yes, you do. You see, Joe, I can’t reach my back, although—”

“Okay, okay, I get the picture,” I interrupted before he made fools of us both in front of the other men in the ward.

He held onto my arm and I kept the pace slow. “There’s a Hansom. Hail him, Joe.” The horse-drawn carriage stopped right in front of us. After helping Adam in, and realizing just how sore and fragile he was, I climbed in and sat next to him. I gave the driver the address and we were on our way.

“See, big brother, boots weren’t necessary at all.” I failed to get a response.

The driver stopped in front of Adam’s flat. I watched the expression on my brother’s face as he contemplated the six steps up to his front door. This must seem like a mountain to him with his lungs messed up like they were. “Come on, take my arm.”

Reaching for the key I still had in my pocket, I unlocked the door and then guided him to the first chair I saw in his parlor, the one closest to the door. I barely got him seated before the coughing began. “You rest here a minute. I’ll get you a drink.” I raced toward the kitchen.

Adam sipped the water slowly until the glass was empty and the cough eventually stopped. “Think you can make it upstairs to lie down?”

“Not right now, Joe,” he said, still laboring to breathe.

My brother would need me close by, day and night, at least for the week to come. If I planned to leave and tried to do anything like go to the market or grab a newspaper, I was scared he’d start that dang cough and not be able to stop. I needed a backup person, someone I could trust, but I knew no one.

Nothing would have to be decided today, but either Pa would have to come out, or maybe—Abby—that might work. She mentioned she was without a job, and I’d rather pay someone I could trust rather than a total stranger.

The rest of the day went as well as could be expected. Doctor Mills had sent some powders home with us in case Adam had a rough go of it. I tried to convince him it would be to his benefit to let me mix some up, but he refused, saying they didn’t make things better, only different. I tended to agree but I didn’t let on.

There wasn’t much in the house to eat. I threw away a couple of rotten bananas and some moldy bread but there were two decent-looking apples. I cut one up for Adam, hoping he wouldn’t choke or start coughing again and took the other for myself. I guess this would have to be our supper tonight.

I moved Adam to the sofa. It was larger and a bit more comfortable than the small chair. He leaned his head back and steadied his breathing. Just eating the apple seemed to wear him out. “We need to talk, Adam.” I didn’t want him to fall asleep just yet.

His eyes were closed and he was in no hurry to open them and look at me. “About what?”

“About your friend Jackson starting the fire.”

It took a minute to sink in. His eyes remained closed, but when he answered me, it was that sarcastic, mocking tone. “Right—and who or what gave you that idea?”

“It’s not exactly me who thinks it, Adam, it’s Max O’Hara, the detective who’s taken on the case.”

That seemed to get his attention, and although his head didn’t move an inch, his eyes shifted in my direction. “You’re telling me this detective, whoever thinks my partner, my best friend for twenty years, started the fire, ruined our business, and tried to kill me in the process. Do I have that right, Joe?”

He made it through his discourse without coughing and I was glad about that but—“There’s more, Adam.”

“Do tell.” With his eyes closed again, I couldn’t help but notice a muscle in his jaw clenching and unclenching as he tried to process what I’d said. “Well?”

“Okay, here goes, brother. The man who tried to kill me and Tim up at that line shack was—well, he was Jackson’s father. His name was Harold Collier. I killed that man, Adam. I killed Jackson and Abby’s father.”

Adam needed another minute to absorb the new information. I watched his eyelids move, darting, searching for meaning and understanding. He was listening but he remained silent so I continued.

“Jackson sent out letters, Adam. He eventually found out it was me who killed the father he believed died over thirty years ago. O’Hara, the detective, and I think he may have set that fire to get back at me by killing you. But then he may have had second thoughts and run back into the burning building to drag you—”

“Wait—wait a minute!” My brother came alive. He sat up taller—he leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers, trying his best to comprehend. “How do you—where did you come by all this information?”

I knew this would be tough to understand but it had to be said. “Pa wrote to the warden at the NSP. He had suspicions about—well, that there might be some connection between—”

“And neither of you thought I should know about this. This was all one big secret?”

Now he was mad, madder’n a hornet. “It wasn’t meant to be a secret, Adam. Pa and I decided not to interfere with—”

“Interfere?” Adam bolted up and started pacing the small parlor like a bull with a spear embedded in either side. “So what you’re telling me is that the man you’d been cellmates with, the man you eventually killed, the man who tried to kill you, and Tim Wilson is Jackson Collier’s father?”

“Adam—” He held the palm of his hand out to stop me from saying anything more.

“Then,” he said, glaring at me with eyes that, I swear, could have shot flames, “you and Pa decide to tell me nothing about it.”

I stood from my chair none too soon. My brother was bent in half, coughing so badly I had to hold him steady, afraid he might injure himself without my help. “Come on, Adam, sit down.”

He was beyond mad. He tried to push me away but I held tight until I had him settled back on the chair. The sudden attack finally calmed down enough that he was able to breathe evenly again.

“I’m sorry,” I said when he was able to listen. “We were wrong. You should have been told.”

His resulting silence led me to believe he was still fuming but not able to rant—to continue his angry outburst for fear of a second attack. We would talk more about it when he was able but for now, my brother and I sat in silence.

Finally, the silence was broken. “I’m tired, Joe. Will you help me upstairs?”

Together, we attempted the slow trek up the long flight of stairs to Adam’s bedroom. I stopped several times, praying the cough wouldn’t return. I wondered if we hadn’t left the hospital too soon. This was Adam’s first day out of bed and it was almost more than he could endure, moving and climbing around like this.

Once I had a nightshirt on him and he was settled in bed, I told him he was going to stay there for the entire week and there’d be no argument about it. He didn’t argue and that only made it worse, knowing how much pleasure he found in disagreeing with me. I knew he was exhausted but it was the new information causing the silence.

His eyes were already closed when I leaned in, pulling the quilt up over his chest. I went back downstairs to bring up a chair. Tonight, at least, I would be sleeping in the same room with my brother.

Morning came, and I felt a hundred years old. I rolled my head and rotated my shoulders before I even ventured out of the uncomfortable chair. On the plus side, the water closet was just a few feet away and not out behind the house.

“Good morning,” I said, noticing my brother’s eyes staring at mine.

“Morning, Joe.”

“You feelin’ okay? Need to sit up for a while?”

“I need to go—”

“That can be arranged.” Unlike my father, I’d never played nursemaid before, but I remembered how Pa always had a cheery attitude and would try his best to cheer his patient up too. I could only try to emulate my father and be as optimistic as possible. “Up and at ‘em, brother,” I said with a little too much enthusiasm. I received a strange look from my brother. “Come on,” I said, trying to lift Adam from the bed.

“Ease up, Joe.”

“Okay.” I guess you had to be Pa.

The water closet was next to Adam’s bedroom so we didn’t have to travel far. He also had a sink and a claw-foot bathtub with a drain, just like the fancy hotels. I shut the door behind me, allowing Adam some privacy. If he called for me, I would be just outside, waiting.

I found a robe and slippers and had them ready and waiting. I hadn’t done anything last night but slip off my boots so I was already dressed and ready to go, even though I knew the farthest I was going today was downstairs.

“I can make us some breakfast,” I said, but sadly remembered what I’d thrown out the night before and thought there wasn’t much left after that.

“I don’t know what I have. You’ll have to look and see. I know I have coffee, though.”

“Coffee it is.” When Adam was settled in the chair I’d used for a bed, I headed downstairs to the kitchen. I could tell already that this was going to be a very long day.

We drank black coffee and I opened a can of peaches—the last morsel of food Adam had in the house. I would need to go out and get groceries if we wanted another meal. Adam had an icebox in his kitchen, but the ice had long since melted and I didn’t trust what was in there. He explained that ice was delivered once a week, early on Thursday mornings, and since he hadn’t been here, it had more than likely melted on the front stoop.

Water still had to be heated for bathing, but at least it drained out from the upstairs closet and didn’t have to be carried back down. Adam had a fireplace in his bedroom and he said he normally heated the water there. I told him I’d help him if he wanted to clean up some but he declined the offer. He was too tired to care.

“Is there a market nearby? We’re going to need some food before long, Adam.”

“I suppose we will. We can’t live on peaches forever, can we?”

“That was your last can, big brother, so no, we can’t.”

“I usually stop for breakfast,” Adam said, then stopped to refill his lungs. “A little place—”

“Called Le Café?” I grinned at the look on my brother’s face. “A little place where a young lady named Kate Lamont works, right?”

“Just how in the world—”

“I get hungry too, older brother. By the way, Kate sends her regards. She heard about the fire and was worried about you.”

“You’ve been here less than two days, Joe. What are the odds?”

I shrugged my shoulders. Adam was struggling to talk and his hoarse, croaky voice needed rest just as he did. “Let me change the bandages and let’s get you back in bed before you fall outta that chair.”

There was no argument. I had him turn around in the chair, draping his arms over the back so I could tend his burns properly. I removed the strips the doctor had wrapped around Adam’s chest and the smaller pads covering the burns. I could see the inflamed tissue, the red swollen patches where the beam had fallen across his back.

“This is gonna hurt.” There were no words: he only nodded his head. I dabbed on the burning alcohol and my brother jerked, arching his back away from my touch. I’m sorry, Adam, I’m sorry.”

He took a deep breath and I continued, knowing every time I pressed the cloth to his back I was causing him pain. The worst part was over, and I smoothed a generous amount of salve over the reddened area before I bandaged the wounds. But we weren’t finished yet; there were still his legs to tend with.

“You wanna lie on the bed and I’ll check your legs?”

When my brother stood from the chair; the pain he was in was more visible than before. The tear tracks on his face; the way he stood, not able to straighten to full height. I wrapped my arm around his waist and guided him to the bed, knowing more had to be done.

Four places on the back of his legs still needed tending and when I hesitated to continue, knowing the agony Adam was in, my brother spoke up. “Just get it over with, Joe.”

I did the same as I’d done with his back and by the time I was finished, Adam was exhausted and falling asleep. I pulled the quilt up over his shoulders. “Rest easy,” I said, although he may have already drifted off.

Adam was settled for now so I picked up the soiled bandages and headed downstairs to wash up our breakfast dishes. I’d just put the water on to boil when there was a knock at the front door. A young boy stood outside.

“Telegram for Joe Cartwright, sir.” I handed him a nickel and tore open the envelope.

“`

Joseph Cartwright, SF, California (stop)

Leaving on today’s stage (stop)

Leaving Hoss in charge of ranch (stop)

Ben Cartwright, Virginia City, Nevada (stop)

“`

By the time I ran back up the stairs to tell Adam, all I could hear was a gentle snore. I’d said very little in my telegram. I didn’t want Pa to worry unnecessarily, but we were talking about my father and worry was his middle name. I’m surprised he’d allowed me to come in the first place, knowing he’d never be able to sit home for long when one of his sons was ill.

Finding Jackson, as Abby Collier had asked of me, would have to wait until who knows when but getting food into the house was a priority. I stepped out the front door and looked up and down the cobblestone street where row after row of flats stood as far as I could see. No mercantile or cafés in sight. I’d have to wait till Adam woke and then maybe I could risk going out.

I sat in the parlor twiddling my thumbs. I had nothing to do but wait for Adam and wait for Pa. I finally took the time to notice what was actually in the room.

My brother had bought himself a large oil painting of a schooner, and it hung on the wall above the sofa. With its tall masts and huge, billowing sails, I could almost imagine it bucking and skipping over every wave, making its way through rough, white-capped seas. This ship was named The Weymouth, built in 1860. I wondered how many voyages it had made over the last ten or so years.

Sailing was my brother’s heritage; his grandfather’s life and our father took a stab at life at sea. I suppose Adam might have followed suit if he hadn’t studied architecture and knew in his heart he needed to put all those years of education to use.

That sure wasn’t the life for me. I was as good as gold with both feet planted on the ground. The highest I cared to be was on top of my horse. You’d never catch me climbing tall masts for a living.

I picked up a gold-framed picture from the side table next to me. It was an old tintype of Pa, sitting in his chair with the three of us surrounding him. I remembered the day the picture was taken, so long ago.

It was a Saturday. Pa had us dress in our finest attire, and it wasn’t me or Adam who primped in front of the mirror the longest that day, it was Hoss. This funny little man, who’d come from St. Louis to make his fortune in the West, came to the house to take our picture. We didn’t dare smile; in fact, we all looked stone-cold sober, or dead, if you want to know the truth, and between Hoss and me, neither of us could keep from pinching each other and carrying on throughout the entire process. Adam rolled his eyes at our harebrained shenanigans and Pa was constantly clearing his throat, trying to get us to behave and get the show on the road.

I ran my finger over the glass—Pa in his black suit and silver vest, Adam always in black, and me in my brown, Sunday suit and poor Hoss—the last thing he wanted to do in life was dress up fancy, but boy—didn’t we all look sharp that day.

I couldn’t help but think back as I stared at the four younger faces, how different life was, how simple life seemed. I was fresh out of Miss Abigail’s schoolhouse—my first year as a full-time—full-fledged—ranch hand along with full pay. The four of us, four Cartwright men protecting what was ours, protecting the land.

That was long before Grace Monroe and her partner Richard Owens set foot in Virginia City—long before Adam met the lovely young lady, fell in love, and planned to marry. Long before I spent eight years of my own damn life locked in a cell with . . .

I set the picture back on the table. I couldn’t even have a decent memory without the likes of Owens and Collier destroying everything. I glanced once more at the tintype. I studied the young boy just starting out in life, wanting to be a man just like his older brothers and Pa—so eager—so full of life.

This whole mess, this ongoing chain of events should be settled by now. I’d paid a debt; I’d lost eight years of my life and still, my life and now Adam’s was in jeopardy. The chaos needed to end—this craziness that now included my brother needed to end once and for all.

I lay my head on the back of the emerald-green sofa to rest my eyes. I hadn’t slept much last night, and maybe I’d nap while Adam did the same. Within minutes, I was sound asleep.

A loud banging noise woke me, ending my bizarre and bloody dream. Trapped alongside the bawling of dying cattle grouped tightly together before being slaughtered, I felt terrified and disoriented as my eyes flew open and I quickly scanned the unfamiliar room.

Someone was knocking at the front door. With my heart still racing, I realized it was only a dream. I ran my fingers through my hair as I stood up from the sofa, quickly trying to make sense of the awful nightmare before I opened the door.

“Abby,” I said, surprised to see her standing on the front stoop.

“Hello, Joe.”

“Come in—please.” I took hold of her hand and practically dragged her into the house. “I’m really glad to see you.”

“Then I’m glad I stopped by. Dr. Mills told me Adam had been released, and I assumed you’d both come back here so he could recuperate.”

“That’s exactly what we did but Adam’s sleeping right now, so—”

“I came to see you, Joe. I thought you might need some help, you know, with Adam and all.”

“You have no clue,” I said, laughing. “Come in. I’ll make us some coffee.”

“Would you like me to, I mean—”

“The kitchen is all yours,” I said, waving my hand in that direction. “I only drink my own coffee out of desperation so I’d be beholdin’ if you’d do the honors.”

Abby removed her frilly hat and matching rust-colored cape and headed straight for the kitchen. I followed her and re-kindled the fire in the stove. She took one look at the shelves and turned back to me. “There’s nothing here to eat, Joe.”

“Well,” I said, “that would be the next problem—groceries.”

“Don’t give it a second thought,” she said. “Do you want to go to the market or shall I? One of us needs to stay here with Adam.”

“Um, I don’t mind going if you’ll stay here with my brother while I’m gone. Of course, you’ll have to point me in the right direction. I don’t know my way around the city.”

“Then let me go and I’ll come back and cook enough food to last the both of you a couple of days.”

“You’d do that?”

“I’d be more than happy to.”

“It’s settled then. You can go, and I’ll give you enough money for whatever you think we need.”

“You can … just in case, but I’m sure your brother has an account at the nearest market.”

We sat and drank our coffee while Abby made out a list of things Adam and I liked to eat and then she stood up to leave. “Adam will be grateful, Abby,” I said. “And now, neither of us will starve to death either. I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to manage around here alone.”

“Don’t you worry about anything, Joe. I’m happy to help.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek. I hate to admit how good it felt not to be shunned by a woman. I wasn’t sure how much she knew about my past. I didn’t know what Jackson had told her or even what he knew himself.

“Wait just a minute,” I said. I’ll be right back.” My jacket was in Adam’s room where I’d left it last night. I ran up the stairs and grabbed my wallet from the inner pocket. Adam was still sleeping but he’d be starving when he woke up so this was working out well.

“Here you go,” I said, handing her a couple of notes. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this, Abby.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

I watched her walk out the door and down the steps. She turned back toward me, smiling as she tossed her hand in the air and waved. I waved back. She was such a pretty girl with sandy blond hair and eyes as blue as Hoss’. She was dressed more casually today than when I’d met her at the hospital. She had her hair pulled back at the nape of her neck with a blue, satin ribbon rather than piled on top of her head like most of the city women I’d seen. I knew she was a few years older than I, but she looked so much younger today than she had at the hospital; I was anxious for her to return.

And return she did. I’d been watching out the front window like a nervous kid. Adam had woken up while she was gone, and I explained she had stopped by and had gone to the market, and then she was going to cook something for us to eat. He seemed pleased, but still, I wasn’t about to let him out of that bed.

“I’ll expect you to behave yourself, Joe. I don’t have the energy to chaperone the two of you.”

“Yeah, right, Adam. I barely know the girl. Just what do you think’s gonna happen?”

“I lived with you for a lot of years, younger brother, and I know how just the sight of a pretty girl turns your head, so don’t give me any of that ‘nothing’s gonna happen’ line because I ain’t buyin’.”

“You don’t have to worry this time,” I said, although even as he made his observation clear, I was already opening myself up to her. I longed for flirtatious banter. Maybe it was her scent or the way she moved, but like Adam said and I didn’t admit, I was interested.

When the cab pulled up outside, I ran out to carry in the supplies. I think she bought out the store after she realized we had nothing and that the two of us would be cooped up here for at least a week. She was even able to get a block of ice wrapped in burlap, which I slung over my shoulder and carried, along with a wooden crate filled to the top with meat, various canned goods, and fresh produce.

I ran back out for another crate, paid the driver, and when I returned to the house, I found Abby in the kitchen already starting to put things away. She’d left her short jacket and her hat draped over the chair and had rolled up her sleeves. This woman meant business.

“Can I help?”

“Can you peel?”

“Can I peel?” I rolled up my shirtsleeves. “Peeling potatoes for our cook was one of my punishments when I was a kid.”

She smiled, then handed me a knife and a wooden cutting board and put me to work. Potatoes, carrots, turnips, and of course an onion, which I’d planned to save for last. “Get busy,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She finished putting things away, keeping out a nice piece of meat, so I could rightly assume we were having beef stew. By the time she had the meat seared and ready to put in the oversized pot, my peeling and chopping were finished, even the onion—and yes, it brought tears to my eyes.

“All right,” she said. “Now it needs to cook.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Abby. I wasn’t sure we’d ever eat again.”

“How’s Adam doing?”

“He’s tired and sore. It’s gonna be a while yet before he’s up and around.”

I extended my elbow to her. “May I escort you out of the kitchen, ma’am?”

“Please,” she said, smiling up at me.

I wasn’t sure how much of this thing with her father would come between us but I did hope we could be friends. She hadn’t talked to O’Hara about the fire so she couldn’t begin to know what Jackson had in mind when he’d lit that match.

I led her into the parlor, and as soon as she was seated, she rolled down her sleeves and brushed back the wispy little blonde hairs that hung gracefully around her cheeks. “I seemed to have worked up quite a sweat in that kitchen, Joe. You’re seeing me at my worst.”

“I still like what I see.”

She started to make a face, but then the corners of her mouth turned up when she changed her mind and smiled. “Thank you,” she said.

We didn’t discuss her father or Jackson, and I was pleased about that. She asked about the Ponderosa and I told her everything I could think of but never brought up the time I’d spent away from home. I told her that my father was on his way here and when I thought he should arrive. She agreed with me that having Pa out here would help with Adam’s recovery.

We talked and laughed, and when I realized how long we’d sat there together, I had forgotten about Adam. “Will you excuse me a minute while I check on my brother—see if he needs anything?”

“Go ahead, Joe. I need to stir the stew.”

Adam was sitting up in bed reading one of the many books he’d had us ship out to him after he was settled. He had a least a hundred choices of leather-bound books shelved against his bedroom wall. “Shakespeare?”

“Melville.”

“Moby Dick?”

“That’s the one.”

“I thought I was the only one who liked that story.”

“Variety is the spice of life, Joe.”

“I guess so.”

He placed his finger between the pages to mark his place and set the book on his lap. “If you’ll help me get dressed, I think I’d like to come downstairs to eat supper rather than trying to manage up here.”

“You know Pa wouldn’t let you out of that bed, but I guess we could see how it goes.” He must be feeling better although I was still concerned about the number of stairs. “Supper won’t be ready for a while yet.”

“My stomach’s been growling ever since Abby put that piece of meat on to cook.”

“You knew she was here?”

“I may not be able to take a deep breath, Joe, but I’m not deaf and I still have a sense of smell.”

“Oh,” I studied Adam for a minute. “Why don’t we just put your dressing gown on instead of all those clothes?”

Adam seemed to be thinking it over while I waited at the foot of his bed. “That makes more sense, doesn’t it?”

“Sure be easier, brother, and you won’t be all worn out before we start down the stairs.”

“Okay,” Adam slipped his legs over the side of the bed. I reached for the gown I’d laid over the back of the chair and turned back quickly when I saw Adam wobble and grab hold of the edge of the bed.

I held him steady, realizing I should have acted more like Pa, refusing to let him out of bed. Descending the stairs in his weakened condition was a stupid idea. “You all right?”

“I am now.”

“Okay then, ready when you are.” We crossed the room slowly and then stood at the top of the stairs. “Two steps and then rest, Adam. We’re not in any hurry.”

“You’re the boss.” I almost laughed, but no use getting careless while steadying my brother on the stairs.

We all sat down in the kitchen for dinner. Adam and I both complimented Abby on the great meal. I think at this point we would have eaten just about anyone’s cooking but the meal she prepared was truly delicious.

When we’d finished, Adam held tightly to my arm and I led him to the sofa where I hoped he’d be more comfortable. I left him alone while Abby and I washed up the dinner dishes but he didn’t seem to mind. There was enough leftover stew for tomorrow’s lunch and she said she’d be back to fix supper tomorrow night so we wouldn’t starve to death before my father arrived.

“Why don’t you walk Abigail home, Joe? It’s just a few blocks from here and I’ll be fine by myself for a while.”

“I don’t know, Adam. I don’t think—”

“Don’t think, Joe—just do.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

“Go on, I’ll be fine.”

The three of us fell into a routine over the next few days. After I’d tended his wounds each morning, Adam felt the need to get dressed and come downstairs. The fear of infection seemed to be over so I’d quit the alcohol treatments and just covered the swollen areas with salve. Abby’s dinners must have given him the boost he needed so by the time Pa arrived, my brother and I had started taking short walks through the neighborhood.

Abby remained our cook—a godsend for the two of us—and she and I took turns running errands while the other stayed home with my brother. Still, the cough could be violent, but the attacks were becoming less frequent as days passed.

On the third or maybe fourth day, and before Abby’s arrival, Adam was feeling his old self again and he was starting to ask questions. The doc had sent pain medications home with us, but Adam had refused any of them so his head was clear and his body was beginning to heal. The stiffness was gone and he was moving more freely.

I’d made coffee, which Adam noted was finally becoming drinkable, and I scrambled some eggs for breakfast. I knew he was feeling better now that he was starting to strike out at me with his roundabout compliments.

“Joe?”

“Yeah—”

“As much as I hate to admit it, I’m having trouble putting together everything you told me the other day.”

“You mean about the fire and Jackson?”

“Yeah,” he said, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Has Abby said anything? Does she know the detective claims Jackson may have started the fire?”

“She’s unaware, brother.” I divided the eggs onto two plates and set them on the table. “More coffee?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“She’s asked me to find Jackson for her,” I said. I filled our cups and sat down across from my brother.

“What?” he said in that long, drawn-out voice he sometimes uses, making one word sound like an entire sentence.

“She doesn’t know he was involved with the fire, but she does know I’m responsible for her father’s death. She seems to think Jackson is still really upset after finding out all this new information about their parents, well, their father especially.”

“Why did you and Pa think you needed to keep all this information from me, Joe?”

“I don’t know,” I said. My shoulders sagged; my body language said it all. “You were so excited about moving out here that Pa thought it might be a kindness if we kept quiet about it and just kept it between the two of us until you got settled and all.” I hoped that was the end of it and Adam wouldn’t blame Pa and me for all that had happened to him. “I’m sorry, Adam. If I’d ever thought it would go this far—”

“Water under the bridge, Joe.”

“Thanks, brother.” Although, I didn’t think it was. How could it ever be?

“So everything they were told as children about their parents dying over thirty years ago was a lie, right?”

“That right. That’s the story they got from their aunt and uncle, Adam. I suppose to spare them from knowing the truth about their father.”

I could see Adam working this out in his mind again. If I kept quiet long enough, he’d figure it all out. So, I sat back and let him study what I’d said.

“So you ended up in a prison cell with Jackson’s father and when he escaped—” Adam looked up at me. He’d found the answer without me laying it all out. “You killed him.”

I nodded.

“But how’d he end up in Nevada?”

“I’m not sure of all the details. From what the warden said in his letter to Pa—”

Adam was slowly shaking his head back and forth. “Go on—”

My brother leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and without words one way or the other, I felt like a little kid again—a kid being reprimanded for keeping secrets, but I continued the story anyway.

“After writing letters, I guess to the prison or maybe to his uncle back in Boston, Jackson found out the truth about his father—about his two prison terms. He also found out that I was the one who shot and killed him after he’d escaped. It’s me he hates, Adam. It’s me he wants to hurt and if you’d died in that fire it would have been the ultimate—”

Adam laid his hand on my arm. “It’s over now, Joe. The police will find him and put an end to all this malicious business.”

I didn’t know what more to say. I felt like I’d betrayed my brother in some way by not telling him the truth way back when. It was my fault he was almost killed. It was my fault that Tim Wilson was almost killed.

“I need some air, Adam.” I stood from my chair.

“Joe, wait.” I turned back to face my brother. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” I laughed mockingly. “I’m the reason you were almost killed, Adam.”

“Sit down, Joe. We need to figure this out.” Adam leaned forward after I sat back down across from him at the kitchen table. “Where is Jackson now?”

“No one knows. I already told you that Abby asked me to find him, but I don’t know the city, and I don’t even know what Jackson looks like. I don’t have a clue where to start. Oh! That reminds me.”

“Of what?”

“I need to tell the detective I’ve moved in with you. He thinks I’m still at The Majestic.”

“You’ll do that today before anything else.”

“Shouldn’t we wait till Abby gets here? I still don’t want to leave you alone.”

“Because of Jackson or—”

“Both, Adam. You’re not strong enough to defend yourself if Jackson finds out you’re still alive.”

“And you think Abigail can protect me from her brother or would even want to?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you think Abigail doesn’t know where he is?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so, Adam.” My brother didn’t seem convinced. “We’ve talked about her father—kind of got it all out in the open—and we’ve talked a little about Jackson. She seems truly concerned about him, and besides, why would she bother to help us out around here if she felt the same way he did?”

“So you don’t think she’d lie to you, right?”

“Unless you’re seeing something I don’t, then no. We’ve become friends, considering.”

Adam stayed downstairs for the rest of the day while we waited for Abby to arrive. I didn’t go see O’Hara—that would have to wait. My brother had no trouble beating me three straight games of chess and I sure as heck wasn’t planning on losing a fourth. I stood and started pacing the tiny room. I’d been inside his flat too long. I needed to get outside, but there was no way I could leave Adam alone.

“How about some fresh air?” I said.

“All right.”

“Maybe a trip around the block would put a damper on your winning streak. I don’t plan to sit here and lose to you again.”

I helped Adam with his boots and we were soon out the front door. “Don’t forget to lock up, Joe.”

“Oh, okay.” Something else I didn’t like about city life.

We walked a couple of blocks and Adam seemed to do better this time. His strength was coming back, but he needed someone with him just in case. He bought today’s paper at a newsstand, folded it, slipped it under his arm, and we started back toward his flat. While Adam concentrated on keeping one foot in front of the other, I spotted him first, sitting, along with his carpetbag on the front steps of Adam’s flat—Pa. We’d locked him out of the house. I nudged Adam and pointed down the sidewalk. “Looks like the two of us are in the doghouse already, brother.”

“Looks that way.”

I raised my hat and waved to my father. He saw me, but he didn’t seem amused, having sat there for who knows how long. Adam couldn’t be rushed and it took a while to finally make it to the front steps.

“Hi, Pa,” the two of us said in unison.

“Hi, Pa? What am I missing here? Why are you two out walking the streets when you,” he said, pointing to Adam, “should be in bed?”

“I’m fine, Pa. Good to see you, too.”

Adam’s smooth, calming voice seemed to soothe my father’s temper and he stood and stepped down, so he was eye to eye with his firstborn. He stared at Adam for a minute before pulling him to his chest. Adam may not have realized, but I knew how much Pa had missed him these past few months. I ran my hand across Pa’s shoulder before leaving the two of them so I could unlock the front door. I picked up Pa’s carpetbag and carried it in. My father and brother soon followed.

It wasn’t long after we’d all sat down and I’d poured us all a cup of coffee that Abby showed up, ready and willing to cook for three hungry men. I took Abby’s hand and introductions were made, so when Pa gave me a sideways glance, I knew he thought I’d come out to San Francisco only to chase skirts, as my brothers used to call it, rather than caring for Adam properly.

I winked at Pa. I would leave Adam to explain while I helped Abby start supper. “Let me help you,” I said, placing my hand on the small of her back and escorting her to the kitchen.

“I see you finished up the stew from yesterday.”

“Sure did.”

“Do you mind cooking for one more? Is that okay?”

“I don’t mind. I enjoy doing things for you—and your family.”

I stood behind Abby; her silky, blonde hair was again pulled back with ribbons, only this time I stood close enough to take in the sweet smell of lavender. The enticing scent drew me a step closer, and without thinking things through, I eased my hands slowly around either side of her waist. Instead of a slap on the face I’d expected, she leaned into me.

She turned and she smiled; a hint of blush shone softly on her cheeks before her fingertips ran tenderly down my face. I took hold of her hand, bringing her palm to my lips. “Later,” I whispered.

She glanced around me and toward the parlor and smiled. “Later,” she said.

As happy as I was to see Pa and know that he’d had a safe journey, my mind was on the young lady; therefore, everything we discussed during supper was a blur. I managed to keep up with the conversation and I don’t think anyone noticed, except maybe Abby, how preoccupied I was. Maybe they caught on when I started clearing the table the minute everyone had finished their meal although I think Pa and Adam were just relieved someone else was up for the job.

As we stood beside each other in the kitchen, I wanted nothing more than to be alone with her; touch my lips to hers, and feel the soft curves of her body next to mine, but I was only tormenting myself. I needed to put those thoughts far, far away, knowing what I knew about Jackson. Together, we washed and dried the evening’s dishes and put the leftovers away. Believe me, we finished in record time. Pa and Adam seemed shocked to see the two of us rolling down our sleeves and joining them in the parlor.

“I’m glad you’re here, Pa. I dreaded leaving Adam alone while I walked Abby home at night.”

“Is that the only reason you’re glad to see me, son?”

“No, Pa. That’s not the only reason, but there is one big problem with you being here and I don’t know whether Big Brother has mentioned it or not.”

“And that would be?”

“Sleeping arrangements.” Pa’s eyebrows rose as he looked between Adam and me. “Your eldest son only has one bed and I’ve been sleeping on the sofa.”

Pa folded his hands in his lap. “Well, that does present a problem, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe I should check back in at The Majestic for now.”

“There has to be another way,” Pa said, sitting up straighter and leaning forward in his chair.

“I have an extra bed in my flat, Joe, but—”

“You’re not suggesting,” Pa said, a bit on the loud side. And he’s the one who always reprimanded me for talking without thinking.

“I was just trying to think of how we could get it moved over here while you’re in town, Mr. Cartwright,” Abby finished.

“I’m sorry, Miss Collier, I didn’t mean—I mean I wasn’t—”

“I think you’d better stop now, Pa.” I was trying to keep from laughing at my father’s discomfort. “We’ll make do tonight, and I can rent a wagon and move the bed tomorrow.”

“That would work fine,” Adam said, also getting a kick out of listening to Pa, trying desperately to rectify his awkward comment.

“Okay, since that’s settled, I’m going to walk Abby home,” I said. “And since I’ll be sleeping on the floor tonight, I doubt I’ll hurry back.”

Abby picked up her hat and cape. “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Cartwright.”

Pa stood from his chair. “I can’t tell you how grateful we all are that you’ve taken time from your day to shop and cook supper for three hungry men.”

“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Cartwright. It’s no bother at all.” Abby tied the ribbons of her bonnet and then her wrap.

“As soon as Adam’s up to it we’ll all have dinner together—your choice of restaurant of course, as our treat, right, Pa?”

“Of course, we will, son.”

Abby and I had become friends over the past few days, but as much as I wanted to, I was hesitant to take the next step. As we walked the few blocks to her flat, she had slipped her arm through mine, her breast pressed gently against my coat sleeve, and although I believed it was unintentional, I heard a faint moan of unexpected pleasure from the lovely lady.

When we arrived, after strolling and enjoying each other’s company, she took out her key and unlocked the front door to her pitch-black house. “Will you come in while I light the lamps? I hate being alone in the dark.”

“I don’t know if—” I wondered how she managed when no one was with her, which had to be most of the time.

“Please come in, Joe. I’ll pour us a nightcap.”

“I shouldn’t, Abby. It wouldn’t be proper, you living here alone and all.”

“Please—”

How could I resist a woman who had sparked something in me I thought had died long ago? I wasn’t that young boy who was once so confident and out to conquer the world. Things had changed; things had happened that had made me feel less than human, less a man, but somehow, Abby, with her gentle smile and her easy way, had convinced me it was time to come back to the world of the living.

“Okay, but just for a few minutes. We don’t want your neighbors to talk.”

The evening sky had darkened with low thunderheads, moving in from the west, and it wouldn’t be much longer and I’d be running back to Adam’s in a downpour.

“I wanted to talk to you for a minute, Joe,” she said, laying her hat and cape over the back of a chair.

“What about?” She picked up a decanter and poured us each a drink. After handing me a glass, she sat opposite me in one of her parlor chairs. I took a sip and shuddered slightly at the taste. “What’s this?”

“Scotch,” she said, sounding surprised.

“Scotch? What’s that?” As soon as I said the words I felt like some hick who didn’t know a dang thing.

“Scotch whiskey, Joe. It’s very fashionable here in the West.”

“Well, I’ve always lived in the West, but I’ve sure never tasted anything quite like this.”

I think I’d embarrassed Abby or maybe I’d only embarrassed myself. Pa always kept brandy in the house but I’d never quite got a hankerin’ for it either. Give me a cold beer any day of the week, not this fancy liquor everybody kept in their homes.

“Would you like to see that bed so you’ll know if it’s something you want to use while your father’s here?” she said, after taking another sip.

“I’m sure my father will be relieved, and truly grateful, to have anything other than the sofa to sleep on.”

“So no matter what happens, you still won’t have a bed. Am I right?”

“You catch on quickly, Abby.”

She smiled a gentle smile, took my hand, and led me up a flight of stairs, and then a second flight, to what I called the attic. Although for her it was a spare bedroom, a very cozy bedroom where she stored most of the things she rarely used.

There were spare trunks, a sewing rocker with a small, scalloped table, and a China lamp, which Abby lit, then turned the wick down low. And there sat the bed—a bed that was smaller than any of us ever slept on at home but being as small as it was, it would be much easier to move, except for the vast amount of stairs. I dreaded the stairs.

“I wonder if it wouldn’t be easier to just talk Adam into buying an extra bed—for company—company like me or when Pa comes out to visit. Is there somewhere in town that sells ready-made furniture?”

“Yes, but they may not have anything already built that suits your fancy.”

“It’s not my fancy I’m worried about, Abby, it’s my backside.”

“Joe—”

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled-for.”

“Sometimes I like uncalled-for, Joe,” she said, taking a step closer. I caught her movement and shifted my weight away from her. But the room was small, and another attempt to move farther away and I’d be tumbling, backside first, down at least one flight of stairs.

She eased the palms of her hands up the front of my shirt. “Abby,” I whispered, not wanting her to stop, but knowing where a simple touch could lead—the two of them alone together was nothing I’d planned, but had she? Did she know what her mere presence did to me? We were moving too fast. There were too many unanswered questions.

She tilted her head back, her lips parted slightly as her eyes pleaded for more. I took her hands in mine and slowly brought them up around the back of my neck before I leaned forward, pressing my lips gently against hers. Feeling the swell of her breasts against my chest and the tip of her tongue asking for more, I was breathless—lost within her world.

An unexpected wave of emotion prevented me from thinking sensibly. Women had been a part of my youth, but I’d been denied for so long. I felt alive. The essential part of living, the vital aspect of life had been missing, buried by feelings of failure and low self-worth.

Effortlessly, I slipped my hands around her waist, but gradually, cautiously, I lowered them still, pulling her closer until our hips met and our bodies pressed tightly together, knowing she would feel what her probing hands and moist, tender lips had done to me. Heat surged—a long-awaited passion sparked, igniting the two of us like burning flames on a cold, rainy night.

After releasing her restrictive hold, she took a small step back; her hands once again crept up my chest, her fingers gently easing my jacket from my shoulders. The low drone of thunder rumbled; the lamplight flickered.

A bright flash of lightning startled her and she pitched forward, combined with a nervous giggle until I touched my fingers under her chin, bringing her lips up to mine. Her hand clutched the back of my neck while her free hand skimmed lightly across the back of my leg. With nimble fingers, she pulled me even closer and moved her thigh, only making it more difficult for me to maintain control.

Without warning, something inside me snapped—something I couldn’t erase from my mind. The last time I was touched—the last time I was forced to touch. “I’m sorry,” I said, before backing away. My eyes burned with tears. “I have to go.”

“Joe?”

“I’m sorry.” I picked up my jacket from the bed. “I’m sorry,” I said, one last time.

Rain came down in sheets. I didn’t run; I didn’t take cover. I dug my hands deep in my pockets and I walked in no real direction—I just walked. Shadows loomed from gas streetlights while unfamiliar city noises resonated from all directions. Ugly shadows, shadows of long ago. Shadows of a young man handled violently by another, causing lasting pain and endless years of torment and fear.

I’d once called myself damaged goods. I laughed at the thought, knowing how true that opinion was. Maybe I was mad. Maybe I’d already lost my mind. That’s exactly what people would think of a man who walked the streets in the rain, laughing out loud at the absurdity of his life, a life filled with shadows and pain.

My hat protected my eyes from the downpour as I walked steadily on, but I’d come too far. The salty scent grew stronger the closer I got to the sea. The vile smell of wet garbage and horse droppings left to rot in the streets in this seedier part of the city was sickening.

The gaslights were now gone, as were the shadows. I walked in darkness and the answers I longed for failed to come. Feelings of inadequacy disrupted rational thoughts. Thoughts like those made me feel weak and exposed, useless and pathetic.

“Two hours,” Ben said, looking at his timepiece again. “Just how far away does that woman live, Adam?”

“As I’ve said before, Pa, it’s just a few blocks.”

“Well, I don’t understand what’s taking him so long. Doesn’t he have any consideration for the two of us? I’m tired. I’d like to get to bed sometime tonight.”

“Maybe he stayed at Abby’s to wait out the storm.”

“That’s ridiculous. A little rain never hurt anyone.” Ben turned his back, separated the heavily lined drapes hanging in Adam’s front window, and peered out into the street. The dim glow of the streetlamp provided enough light to ensure that Joseph was nowhere in sight.

“Why don’t you go stretch out on my bed for a while? I’ll wait up for Joe,” Adam said, tired of listening to the constant ranting of his angry father.

Ben turned and glared at his son, but his demeanor quickly changed when he realized how out of control he sounded. “I’m sorry,” he said in a much calmer voice. “Joe’s a grown man; I’m sure he can take care of himself. I know I shouldn’t worry. It’s just—”

“It’s just what, Pa?”

Ben sat back down on the sofa, running his hand along slowly, feeling the raised pattern of the horsehair fabric. Adam was no fool. Ben knew his eldest son was well aware of his state of mind, his thoughts concerning Joe, and he would have screamed loud enough for the world to hear if he thought it would make a damn bit of difference.

“They took eight years of my son’s life from me, Adam,” Ben said, glancing toward the chair where his eldest son sat unmoving, letting his father confirm what was truly bothering him. “Eight long years I spent, thinking of Joseph in that hellhole and I couldn’t—I was so helpless. He says he doesn’t blame me. He says he knows I tried, but I’ve seen the scars on his back. I saw what they did to my son when he’d given up when he’d lost all hope because I couldn’t—”

“Pa, you have to believe Joe. He knows you tried everything humanly possible.”

“That’s not it, Adam. I didn’t do enough. I promised him time and again inside that cell that justice would prevail. I promised him he would be found innocent, and when the trial was over, he’d come home where he belonged. Then I promised him an appeal, then another, and nothing. It was my job as his father to keep him safe. I failed him in so many ways.”

Adam was never aware of the enormous amount of guilt his father carried and before he could speak, he could find the right words to ease his father’s pain, Ben was back on his feet, staring out the window, overly conscious of the driving rain and waiting for his youngest son to return home.

The constant drizzle continued throughout the night, and when Ben woke, he groaned slightly, as he maneuvered his stiff legs from the sofa to the floor. He stood, stretched his aching body, and reached for his timepiece—6:45 a.m. He crept up the flight of stairs to find Adam already dressed and sitting on the edge of his bed pulling on his second boot.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ben said.

“Same place you are, Pa.”

“What about your back—you need clean bandages?”

“It can wait.”

Ben hadn’t bothered to undress the night before; he’d only closed his eyes for a minute to relieve the scratchy feeling of not enough sleep although now, in the early morning dawn, he felt rumpled and in need of a shave. “I’ll just be a minute,” he said, before making his way to the water closet.

Adam felt more like his old self—more alive than he had since the fire. He was finally able to take a deep breath without the coughing fit that had plagued him for the last couple of weeks. He figured he and his father would be paying a visit to Abby this morning, but he also knew he had to get some food in his father and make sure his disposition was on a more even keel before they headed out to look for Joe.

It was obvious that Joe was fond of Abby, but with his father staying with the two of them, he couldn’t imagine Joe would be so careless as to spend the night with the young lady and not return home. Even though there was no other explanation he could think of, the last thing he wanted was to be in the same room with his father and younger brother, no matter how old Joe was if that had been the case.

Abby always made enough food when she came to fix supper so that he and Joe and their father would have leftovers for lunch the next day, but Adam was on his own as far as breakfast. He started the fire in the stove and had the bacon sizzling before Ben returned downstairs.

It wasn’t difficult to discern Ben’s mood. Nothing had changed from the night before and Adam remained silent. He’d kept to his task and waited for his father to initiate the conversation he dreaded concerning Joe.

“Mr. Cartwright, Adam, won’t you come in?” Abby said, surprised to see the two men standing at her front door.

As much as Ben was ready to leave at the crack of dawn, anxious to speak to the young lady about Joe’s whereabouts, Adam held him off until 8:30. He was thankful to see that Abby was up and dressed for the day when they arrived.

“Thank you, Miss Collier,” Ben replied.

“May I offer you some coffee or—”

“We won’t take up much of your time, Abigail,” Adam interrupted, causing Abby to take a step back from the rigid measure of his voice. “Joe didn’t come home last night and we were wondering if—”

Abby’s hands shot to her face, covering her mouth, as she took in the worried looks on both men’s faces. “He’s not here, Adam. I assumed when he left he was heading home.”

“So he stayed here for a while?” Ben said, then turned and glanced at Adam.

“Yes, but it started raining and—and he said he had to go. I just assumed he’d gone back to your place, Adam.”

“You mean he left last night?” Ben said, somewhat confused.

“Of course, I meant last night, Mr. Cartwright.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Collier. I’m just concerned. I wasn’t thinking when I spoke. Please forgive me.”

Ben and Adam glanced at each other, finding it strange that Joe hadn’t returned last night. “Where else would he have gone, son?”

“I don’t know, Pa. I don’t think he knows anyone else in the city.”

“Did he mention having business elsewhere, Miss Collier?” Ben was dumbfounded and asked questions that didn’t even make sense to him. If Joe doesn’t know anyone but Adam then where would he have gone?

“No, sir, he didn’t say, but he did seem upset about something when he left. I don’t know what—”

“Upset?”

“Yes, sir. He left in a hurry.”

“I see,” Ben said, although he didn’t see at all. “We won’t take up any more of your time then.” Ben started to leave but before he walked out the door, he turned back to Abby. “If Joseph should come back this way, will you—”

“Certainly. I’ll let you know if I hear from him at all.”

Father and son stood outside Abby’s flat, both looking one way and then the other, back and forth down the puddle-ridden street. Last night’s rain had finally dwindled to a fine mist, leaving the morning air cold and damp. “Where do we go from here?” Ben questioned his son, knowing Adam was just as clueless as he was.

My eyes opened slowly and what I saw, or could see in the dark, little room, I didn’t recognize at all. I reached for my left eye, which was swollen and unable to open all the way. I felt like hell. My whole body hurt, and when I tried to slide my legs over the side of the bed, I felt every muscle protest.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, deciding what to do next, I heard voices—distant voices, but they weren’t familiar. They had a slowness to them, a distinct dialect uncommon to me, but comforting rather than threatening.

I stared at the tattered burlap curtain hanging in the doorway, separating me from the voices, when it was pushed aside unexpectedly and a tall, black man stood, staring down at me. “Didn’t know if’n you was gonna wake up or not,” he said.

“I’m sorry—I seem to be at a loss. Wh—where am I?”

“Name’s Silas Barton, son. Dun found ya lyin’ outside my doorway dis mornin’ when I unlocked the shop.”

“The shop?”

“My barbershop,” he said like I should know what he was referring to. “Been a might busy this mornin’ so my wife, Delsey, well, she’s been tendin’ ya. Somebody worked ya over real good last night. Left ya fer dead, I ‘spect.”

“Yeah, I ‘spect so,” I said, touching my tender cheekbone.

“Ya wanted by da police?”

“No, sir.”

“Ya hungry?”

“Yessir, guess I am.”

“Got a home?”

“Yeah, my—my brother’s place—” I started to stand but I was dizzy and my head pounded something fierce. I eased back down on the bed.

“Ya stay put now and I’ll have Delsey bring ya somethin’ hot ta eat. Don’t ya go movin’ ‘round none, ya hear?”

“Yessir, I hear.”

Within minutes of Silas Barton leaving me alone in the small back room of his shop, a black woman only half his size came in through a second entrance. Quickly, I pulled the woolen blanket up to my chin, covering my bare chest in the presence of a lady.

She set a plate of hominy grits and biscuits with gravy on a small, wooden table, and since I wasn’t planning on letting go of the blanket any time soon, she rolled her eyes and planted her hands on her hips.

“I been tendin’ you all night, boy. I already seen everythin’ you got.”

I glanced away, knowing my face glowed red, but a quick scan of the small room didn’t provide what I needed. “I—I don’t seem to know where my clothes are, ma’am.”

“Gots ‘em dryin’ in the kitchen, boy. You was soaked to the skin when Silas brung ya in.”

“Oh, thank you, ma’am.”

“Name’s Delsey, boy.” She pointed to the plate of food before she walked away. “Don’t you leave nothin’ on that plate, you hear? Make you feel a might better.”

“Yes, ma’am, I hear.”

I waited until she was out of the room to lower the blanket to my lap so I could eat. I tried to remember what happened that brought me to this place. I remember three men asking for money. Guess they didn’t like the answer I gave.

Before I had a chance to cover myself again, Delsey walked back into the room with a steaming hot cup of coffee. What difference did it make? She said she’d see it all anyway. “Thanks,” I said.

“Soon as you’s done eatin’ I bring in yer clothes. They ain’t washed clean, but they’s dry ‘nough.”

“I appreciate that, ma’am.”

She mumbled something to herself on her way out, but I couldn’t make out the words—something, something, “foolish white boy”. She wasn’t far off the mark. I’d let those three men take me down. My mind was elsewhere, and the fight was over before it began. I had cuts and bruises and a body that ached all over.

I’d been stupid and careless; walking all night through a city I knew nothing about was not the best plan. I’m surprised I wasn’t shanghaied and sitting on a boat halfway to China by now. Boy, I was sure gonna hear it from Pa. “You don’t have the sense God gave you,” or maybe even “ten-year-old schoolboys have more sense,” another line Pa liked to use with stupid, careless sons.

I was trapped and couldn’t move from the bed. When I finished my grits and biscuits, I sat, still covering myself with the blanket until Delsey came in with my clothes, and then proceeded to embarrass me a second time when she asked if I needed any help getting dressed. “I think I can manage, ma’am.”

The room was chilly and damp and the warm, oven-dried clothes felt good against my chilled skin. The woman had stripped me naked and even took my long johns into the kitchen to dry. Maybe she’d tended white boys all her life although I didn’t have the nerve to ask. These people had shown me kindness, and I needed to repay them somehow. I reached into my jacket pocket and of course, my wallet was gone. No surprise there.

Pushing the curtain aside and walking through the doorway, I stood smack in the middle of the barbershop and there was Silas, finishing up a man in the chair. He looked over at me and smiled. “You’s lookin’ much better now, ‘septin’ ya needs yourself a shave. Sit down, son, and I’ll be right with ya.”

“I don’t—I mean, you don’t need to go to all the trouble—you’ve already done enough for me, Mr. Barton. I can’t even repay you for all you’ve—”

“Ain’t wantin’ no pay, but if’n I let you walk outta here lookin’ like you do, what would people say of ol’ Silas? Now, do as I say. Sit down and wait yer turn.”

“Yessir.”

Silas was determined not only to give me a shave but a haircut too, and I was determined to keep his scissors away from my head, so when we finally agreed on just the shave, I was able to lie back in the chair and relax. Another man was waiting in the single-chair shop so as soon as Silas was finished with me, I thanked him again, bid him farewell, and started walking back toward Adam’s. I’d have to figure out later how to repay these people, but the way things were now, and not a penny to my name, there wasn’t much I could do but say thanks.

I didn’t realize how far I’d walked the night before, and without any cash for cab fare, I was destined to keep walking. My ribs ached and my face ached, even my knuckles were scuffed up and sore, so maybe I gave as good as I got.

I tried to put last night out of my mind, starting with Abby and what a fool I’d been. Then to let myself get beat up and robbed—that put me in a mood. Hell, I wouldn’t even be able to recognize the three men who beat me up if they stood right in front of me in broad daylight.

When I finally reached Adam’s flat, I was tired and my boots had rubbed more blisters on my feet. No one was home, and since I’d given Adam back his key, there I sat on the front stairs just as Pa had done yesterday, waiting for one, or both of us to return.

I’d just gotten myself comfortable when a mounted police officer pulled up in front of me. “Hey, ain’t you that Joe Cartwright fella?”

“Max? Max O’Hara?” I stood then grabbed hold of my ribs before reaching up and shaking the detective’s hand. “I didn’t know detectives patrolled on horseback.”

“Now and then, Mr. Cartwright. We’re a bit shorthanded right now—gotta murderer on the loose.”

“Guess that puts Jackson Collier on the back burner, doesn’t it?”

He slipped off his hat and scratched his rust-colored hair. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cartwright but I’m afraid it does.”

“I understand.”

“You livin’ here now?” O’Hara asked.

“Yessir. It’s my brother’s flat. Adam Cartwright, the one who was dragged out of the fire, only today he’s the one carrying the key, not me.”

“You mean him?” Max pointed at the two men stepping out of the cab across the street.

“That would be him, detective.”

Max dismounted his tall bay and reached out his hand to Adam. “Max O’Hara, Mr. Cartwright. I’m the officer assigned to your case and the suspected arson of your firm.”

“Arson?” Pa said. “You mean—” I figured Adam had told Pa the whole story by now but I figured wrong.

“Pa, this is Detective O’Hara. Max, this is my father, Ben Cartwright.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Cartwright,” Max said. He looked straight at me. “This could be a might confusin’.”

“Call me Joe, Max, and this here’s Adam. My father’s the only real Mr. Cartwright as far as we’re concerned.” I was glad the detective had interrupted anything Pa might have said about my condition or last night, but Pa was at a loss over this mention of arson. “The detective suspects Jackson of starting the fire.”

“Jackson? I don’t understand.”

“Someone was seen running away from the building, Mr. Cartwright, just after the flames were spotted. The witness thought he was one of the men who worked in that building at first, but then he went on to tell me that he saw this same man running back into the building just a few minutes later.”

“Why don’t we take this conversation inside, detective?” Pa said, sensing Adam’s reluctance to continue the discussion out in the street.

“Well, to be honest, sir, that’s all I know right now, but I assure you, as soon as I have more information about the case you’ll be the first to know.” O’Hara shook each of our hands then he mounted and rode away; his shod horse clomping loudly down the narrow, cobblestone street.

I started for the stairs, leading to Adam’s front door when Pa grabbed a hold of my arm, turning me to face him. “I guess you want to know where I’ve been all night, don’t ya, Pa?”

“You guessed right, Joseph.”

When I glanced at my eldest brother, his facial expression said it all. I could tell he was quite amused at my expense. Adam and I were grown men but it didn’t change the fact that my father was still a commanding force, and within minutes, either Adam or I would be reduced to that of a child, telling Pa exactly what he wanted to know. Adam unlocked the front door and I suggested, mainly to Pa, that we go inside and I’d explain.

“I’ll make the coffee,” Adam said, scooting away from the parlor and my father.

“Well, as you know, I walked Abby home…

I wasn’t sure how to explain my sudden departure from Abby’s house, and how I ended up close to the harbor and then at Silas’ Barber Shop for the night. I kind of stumbled through that part, saying that somehow I got turned around and ended up lost, which wasn’t a total lie, just not the whole truth. I figured I’d tell him about the beating and robbery. It wasn’t something I could easily hide.

Adam was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, waiting for the coffee to boil and I could tell he wasn’t buying my story, but I think Pa was, and that’s all that mattered to me.

“You walked miles, son,” Pa said, as he observed my swollen cheekbone and the narrow slit of my eye.

“I guess I did.”

“Can you identify the men who beat you?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. They got my wallet too.”

“Did you tell the detective, Joe?”

“No, it was my fault, Pa. It was stupid of me to get so turned around.” Adam cleared his throat before heading back to the kitchen. “I need a glass of water, Pa. Be right back.”

I took a glass from the shelf and pumped the handle a couple of times. “Nice story, Joe.”

I brought the glass to my lips. “It’s not what you think, Adam.”

We still had a bed situation, and with me being gone most of the day, and Pa and my brother out looking for me, we would suffer through another night with only one bed. When we’d finished supper, without Abby’s help this time, the subject of sleeping arrangements came up.

“Why don’t you two sleep in Adam’s bed tonight and tomorrow we’ll go buy a second bed for this place? I can only stand one more night on this sofa.” Pa glanced at me when I started to object, wishing he’d share the bed, not me. “You need a good night’s sleep, son.”

It wasn’t the time to argue so I let things stand as they were. “Okay, Pa,” I said, wondering if I’d be hammered with unanswerable questions from my older brother. I was in no mood to explain, and as far as any kind of explanation went, I never would be. It’s the shame I carried, the shame I wouldn’t discuss with another living soul, not now, not ever.

I did need to speak to Abby though, to try to give her some kind of explanation, but what could I tell her that would make any sense? “It’s too soon, or we’re moving too fast, or how about remember me? I’m the one who killed your father, the filthy son-of-a—”

I was thankful when Adam chose not to press the issue about the night before but I was on edge and fidgety, and I don’t think either of us got a decent night’s sleep. Although Pa may not realize it, sofa or not, he’s the only one who did.

Pa always said I was a restless sort, and when I climbed out of bed earlier than anyone else, leaving a note for him and Adam before I walked out the front door, I figured he was right on the money.

Going for a short walk.

Will bring home breakfast.

Joe

I needed a few minutes alone and I’d noticed a bakery not far from Adam’s on my way home yesterday. Time spent wandering the streets during a thunderstorm hadn’t set my mind at ease, so maybe this morning I could clear my head and start fresh. The air was heavy and damp. The low-hanging clouds would probably offer up more rain sometime today.

My mind started to drift. A new woman in my life, perhaps Abby was just what I needed but intimacy, the closeness I longed for, would that ever be a part of my life again? I ran from her when things became too much for me to handle. Would this always be the case? Was I condemned to a life of loneliness and solitude? I was never meant to be like some holy man of God who’d taken vows of abstinence—not me—not Joe Cartwright. I didn’t know the answer. I didn’t know where to turn or what to do next.

The baker called them Scottish Crumpets with a side of honey and they looked good to me so that’s what I bought for our breakfast. I could barely understand what the man was saying but he kept smiling and pointing. When in Rome.

Pa had a strange look on his face when I opened the wrapping but he eventually nodded his head. “Very good, Joseph.”

Adam had seen and tasted them before but for Pa and me, this was a new San Francisco treat, even if they were Scottish by nature. Adam was pretty much back to normal so maybe by tomorrow we could visit Adam’s little restaurant and introduce Pa to Kathryn, known to Adam and me as Kate.

One thing we never discussed, and Pa and I should know just in case we stumbled upon him, was what Jackson looked like. His height and weight, his mannerisms. When we’d had our fill of crumpets and couldn’t eat another bite, I poured us all a second cup of coffee and asked Adam to explain the particulars about Jackson.

“Well,” he said, glancing at Pa and then back to me. “He’s about my height I guess, lighter in coloring—sandy-brown hair, blue eyes—but he’s particularly broad-shouldered and muscular for a man who sits behind a desk all day. Actually, I should rephrase that somewhat.”

“Why’s that, Adam?”

“He may be muscular in some respects, but only in his mind can he rise above an unfortunate childhood accident. You see Jackson has a crippled left arm. He told me early on in our friendship that he’d fallen from a tree as a child and shattered most of the bones in his arm and hand. Actually, I’m surprised they didn’t amputate at the time although they may as well have. His left arm and hand are totally useless to him.

“Of course, thinking back now, I seem to remember that’s why he and Abigail had lived in Boston with their aunt and uncle that summer. Seems Jackson had said he was having some kind of treatments, trying out a new technique I think, which would stimulate nerves or muscle—anyway, something to that effect.”

“The lame arm is a good thing to know, Adam.”

“I can’t really think of anything else, Joe. Clean shaven—handsome I guess for a man.”

I chuckled. “You guess?”

“You know what I mean,” he said, tightening his lips and shaking his head. “I don’t generally concern myself with whether other men are handsome or not.”

A column in yesterday’s newspaper, The San Francisco Chronicle, which both Adam and I’d had glanced at earlier, checking for any information about Jackson or the fire, stated young boys—prostitutes—were being killed in an area of the city known as Fisherman’s Wharf, where hundreds of sailboats would launch early each morning and not return till late at night. They suspected the murderer to be of odd persuasion, which apparently was more common in Europe than here in this country, at least to me, it seemed uncommon.

“I wasn’t insinuating you were of odd behavior, big brother.”

“The term is odd persuasion, not behavior, little brother.”

“All means the same thing to me, Adam.”

Pa was wise to keep his mouth shut during our discussion, even though he glared at me and then at Adam, but being the sensible man that he was, he kept his thoughts to himself.

“Okay, back to Jackson,” I said. “Is there anywhere you think he’d go? Any place he would take off to or did he ever do things like that?”

“I’m at a loss, Joe, I really am, but considering everything you’ve told me about the letters he’d received, which he never mentioned to me, I can now see that there definitely was a change in him, things I’d noticed recently but could never quite put my finger on.

“What kind of change, Adam?”

“Well,” he said, leaning forward and resting his crossed arms on the table, “it seems as though I was doing much more of the work over the past couple of months—more than I had in the beginning. We’d formed Collier and Cartwright as an equal partnership, which, as you both know, Jackson had already built up into a respectable and very profitable firm long before I came into the picture. I was shocked when he offered to take me on as an equal partner since he’d initially supplied his own money and knowledge to initiate the firm and bring the company to where it stood before I joined.”

“So you’re saying you shared the profits 50/50 even though he’d been in business for so many years?”

“That’s exactly right, Joe, and I’m wondering now if there wasn’t an ulterior motive in this whole scheme of things.”

“I don’t think so, son.” Pa had been listening closely and he had set up a timeline in his mind where offering Adam the partnership had happened before any of these more current events. “Jackson offered you this job long before his father escaped from prison and consequently involved Joe.”

“I guess you’re right, Pa. It does seem odd though, doesn’t it? I mean if you really think about it, why wasn’t I asked to put any of my own funds into the firm? Why was he so willing to take me on as an equal partner?”

There was no immediate answer. Pa and I stared at each other thinking maybe the answers would come, but that wasn’t the case. We were dumbfounded and neither Pa nor I had a reasonable answer to give except the close friendship Jackson and Adam had shared for twenty-some years.

“Since Joe didn’t have the sense to buy a paper while he was out this morning, I think I’ll walk down to the newsstand and pick up today’s copy,” Adam said. My brother smiled at me after his statement about my competency, or lack of, as an errand boy so I didn’t bother with a snide remark to the contrary.

“Why don’t I go with you, son?”

“All right, you ready? You coming, Joe?”

“Might as well. Do we have any other plans today?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“We certainly do have plans,” Pa roared, catching our attention and making us feel like fools for not knowing what he had in mind. Adam glanced at me and I figured it best to keep a blank look on my face in front of Pa. “A bed—we need a bed!”

Adam and I started to laugh but we quickly decided Pa was in no mood after two nights on Adam’s sofa. “We’ll do that first thing, Pa.”

“I suggest we take a cab then,” Adam said. “After that, we can catch a ride back up to the firm. I’d like to check out C&C and see what kind of shape it’s in. And since I’m currently unemployed and have no idea what to do with my life, maybe I can decide if the building itself can be salvaged or not.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

With Pa satisfied he’d be sleeping on a bed and not the sofa, which, in turn, became my bed, the three of us stood outside the blackened, stone building that had been Collier and Cartwright. An ornate, wrought iron fence surrounded the property and as soon as Adam pushed open the front gate with tall, decorative finials at either end, a uniformed officer stopped him.

“Hold up there, mister,” he said. “May I ask what business you have here?” All three of us turned abruptly at the sound of the policeman’s voice.

“This was my office building,” Adam said.

“Your building?”

“Adam Cartwright, sir,” my brother said, extending his hand. “Mr. Collier and I ran our architectural firm from this building before the fire.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Cartwright. O’Hara told me you’d probably come by.”

“Mind if we go inside the building?”

“I don’t suppose there’s anything fit to take outta there, Mr. Cartwright. That fire was a hot one. I think you’ll find it took everything with it.”

“I’m sure it did but I’d still like to see for myself.”

“Do what ya need to do but watch your step, gentlemen. There still may be loose timbers and I don’t want to have to explain to O’Hara if—”

Adam raised his hand. “I’ll take full responsibility.”

Adam only had to place his hand on the front door and it gave way, falling from its hinges and crashing to the floor. Billowing ash and black cinders filled the air. He turned slightly and looked back over his shoulder. “Be careful, Pa.”

“We all better be careful or we’ll end up having a date with the Sisters of Mercy,” Pa said.

We walked slowly; the foul odor of smoke and burnt lumber still permeated the inside of the two-story building. The outside structure may have been stone, but everything inside was wood except for a curved metal staircase rising to the second floor. Most of the second story was nothing but blackened timber with a generous pile of rubble cluttering most of the first floor.

My brother was the architect, and if anything could be salvaged from this hideous mess, he’d know. Neither Pa nor I knew what to look for or even what Adam was looking for. We continued forward but no one said a word—our boots crunched through the wreckage leaving an eerie, haunting sound. Even though Adam had lived through the ordeal, I felt a part of him died with the fire. This had been a lifelong dream of his and to see it now—a pile of nothing.

Part of me felt guilty for pushing my eldest brother out the door of the Ponderosa over six months ago, realizing now, we’d almost lost him as a result. If I’d only left things alone, Adam would still be home with us and none of this would have happened.

Again, the word fate came to mind. Had this all been part of a larger plan? Was there something we’d all take away from this bizarre chain of events and be stronger because of it? I didn’t think so. At this point, our goal was to stay alive and that meant finding Jackson before he found us.

My musings ended when I heard Pa call out apprehensively to my brother. “Adam?”

I looked up, noticing Adam starting up the iron staircase, which was the only part of the interior that had remained intact. “It’s safe, Pa. I’m just going to take a quick look at the second floor.”

Pa and I stood together, watching my brother make his way up the stairs. He took it slow, and to his benefit, the structure didn’t seem to wobble or sway at all. Adam shook his head after scanning what was left of the second story then headed back down, and although my brother was no longer a young child, I don’t think Pa took a breath until he was back down on solid ground.

I thought I saw a shadow, something, or someone moving past the far wall. Not wanting to cause alarm, although there was no way to be subtle or graceful traipsing across a room full of fallen timbers, I left Pa’s side and casually maneuvered myself to the back of the building.

I did see something. A man dressed in black ran away from the building and down the alley. I hitched my boot up on the windowsill and I was outside the building in a flash. I ran after him, tried to follow, tried to keep up, but he was long gone, vanished into thin air before I had a chance to see which direction he took.

I stood with my hands on my hips, mad that I’d lost him. If it was Jackson, he knew I was in the city. He also knew my father was here and that Adam’s physical wounds had healed enough for him to be up and around. I yanked off my hat, slapped it against my leg, and skimmed my fingers through my hair. I’d let him get away.

Pa and Adam had come out through the back door and were standing outside when I returned. “We had a visitor,” I said.

“Could you tell who it was?” Pa quickly asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

“You know damn well who it was, Joe.”

“Adam, please. We don’t know for sure, son.”

“Well, I have a pretty good idea, Pa, and he’s not giving up till one or all of us are dead,” Adam said, frustrated by what he’d seen of his firm today. I glanced at Pa. What could either of us say? More than likely my brother was on the right track but what could we do but wait?

“Let’s go home,” Pa said.

We were about halfway back to Adam’s flat when I chose to send my father and brother home so I could stop by Abby’s and apologize for leaving her place the way I did. I’d thought about it off and on all day, trying to come up with an explanation that would satisfy us both, but I still didn’t have anything worked out.

“Pa,” I said, knowing I’d have to turn off here. “I need to stop by Abby’s for a minute. There’s—well there’s sort of an awkward set of circumstances I need to discuss with her.” Pa didn’t say anything, but Adam just stared at me as if I was an errant little boy, planning, and then carrying out some deed my father wouldn’t approve of. “I won’t be long.”

I stood on the sidewalk in front of Abby’s flat, half afraid to go up to the door. I still didn’t know how I’d explain my actions, or reaction, as the case may be. This is stupid. Just do it, Joe, and get it over with. She probably won’t answer the door if she suspects it’s me anyway.

After rapping the brass knocker lightly against the front door, I looked back over my shoulder, noticing the heavy, dark clouds once again. I wondered if I would always associate Abby with violent storms or maybe it was the storm within me that kept me from having a normal life.

“Just a minute,” she called out. I couldn’t imagine she wasn’t presentable in the middle of the day, but I waited.

The door finally opened. Abby looked flushed and disheveled somehow. “Did I come at a bad time? I can come back another—” I started to turn away.

“Wait, Joe. I—I was busy—cleaning the house, you see, and I didn’t want you to see me like this.” She quickly straightened loose strands of hair and adjusted the waistband of her skirt. “I’m just a mess,” she laughed shyly.

“I can come by later.”

“No, no, come in—please.” She opened the door wider so I could enter her parlor.

“Are you sure it’s no bother?”

“I’m sure. Can I get you something? Coffee? Scotch?”

“I’ll pass on the scotch, thank you, but coffee sounds good.”

“Okay. That sounds good to me too.” She fiddled again with a strand of hair and headed toward the kitchen; I followed. The house looked fine to me aside from the two small glasses sitting in her sink. Everything else seemed spotless and clean.

“Looks like you’ve been busy today.”

“What?” she said, turning and giving me an odd look.

“Cleaning—”

“Oh,” she laughed. “I’m just finishing.”

There was something different about Abby, something I couldn’t put my finger on, but it made me feel uncomfortable and out of place. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Why do you say that?” She stopped pumping water and set the coffee pot down next to the sink.

“I don’t know. I came to apologize for the other night. I didn’t mean to—”

“Shhh,” she said, placing her finger on my lips. “No apology needed.” She turned and reached for two glasses, identical to the ones in her sink, and then uncorked the bottle of scotch. “Maybe we need that drink after all.”

She handed me the glass and led me back into the parlor. I sat in a small, green chair and she sat on a sofa close to me. “It’s me who should apologize, not you, Joe. I don’t know what got into me,” she said, bowing her head. “I’ve never behaved so—unladylike with a man before.”

I felt embarrassed when she brought up her part in all of this, which, of course, led to my unexpected reaction. I searched for something to say. “Well then, we’ll start over, from scratch, I mean.” I took her hand. “No need for either of us to ruin a good thing by worrying about what we should or shouldn’t have done.”

“Then you don’t hate me?”

“Are you kidding?” I said. “Abby, I care more about you than I have for any woman for a long time. Let’s get to know each other better and take things a little slower this time around, okay?

“Okay,” she said. She held her glass up to mine. We toasted. We drank.

“How about lunch tomorrow? You and me and my family?”

“I’d love to.”

“Pick you up at noon?”

“I’ll be ready.”

One thing I learned about living in the city was that there were restaurants galore and even something they called carry-out food—food wrapped in paper or carried away in tins, whichever was appropriate—food available for you to take with you and eat somewhere else. And that’s exactly what Pa and Adam had done. I smelled it when I walked into Adam’s flat.

“What smells so good?” I said.

“Chinese food,” Pa hollered over his shoulder. “You better hurry before your brother and I finish it all.”

On the kitchen table sat three separate tins of various types of food I’d never seen before. Pa pointed to each tin, “Pork, chicken, beef,” he said. Who knew that after living with a Chinese cook for so many years, we’d have to come all the way to San Francisco to indulge in what Hop Sing could have made us at home?

“This is good, Adam,” I said, after taking my first bite.

“Thought you might like it,” he said. “Pa seems to be eating his share and Hoss’s.”

“That reminds me,” Pa said. “I need to send Hoss a telegram, letting him know you’re doing better, and I’ll return home sooner than expected.”

“I wouldn’t dally too long here, Pa. You know Hoss. He’ll be throwing wild parties and staying in town drinkin’ and gamblin’ till the wee hours, and he might even take a fancy to one of them saloon gals and end up handing over the deed to the Ponderosa.”

“You know, son,” Pa said, leaning back in his chair, “I have three healthy,” he hesitated to pat Adam’s arm, “stalwart sons, but if there was one I trust above all the rest, it would be the one I left at home to run the ranch in my absence.”

Adam and I stared at each other, trying desperately to keep a straight face. “Did Pa say what I thought he said, Adam?”

“You mean that neither of us can be trusted?”

“Yeah, that’s the part.”

“I believe that’s what I heard, younger brother.”

“It would be a heavenly sin to harm one’s father, right?”

“Well put, Joe.”

“So we’re going to sit back and take it?”

“Yep.”

The three of us had a good laugh, and after cramming down more than enough food to keep us alive for days, we all stood from the table and moved slowly into the parlor.

“Guess I’ll have to watch my back from now on,” Pa said, still trying to control his laughter.

“Hey, I forgot to tell you. I made lunch plans for us tomorrow.”

“How can you possibly think of eating again after the meal we just ate,” Adam said, rubbing his hand across his protruding belly.

“Well, I just can,” I said. “I invited Abby to join us at Le Café tomorrow. I’m picking her up at noon.”

“So you got things straightened out then,” Pa said.

“Yeah, but what things are you talking about?”

“Well, nothing, son. She just said you left in a bit of a hurry the other night.”

“Oh, yeah, well I kind of did, but that’s over. We’re okay now.”

“Why Le Café, Joe?”

“You mean you haven’t told Pa about Kate?”

“Kate?”

“Kate,” I repeated.

“That’s because there’s nothing to tell,” Adam said, hoping I’d shut up.

“Oh, but there is.” I couldn’t help watching my big brother squirm and I was enjoying every minute of his unease.

“You see, Pa, there’s this lovely young lady named Kate, whose father owns this unique little restaurant, and she’s been asking about big brother here, but he hasn’t taken time from his busy schedule to go down to this little establishment. Oh, and by the way, you’ll love the food—anyway, he hasn’t stopped by to see her since he’s been out of the hospital and I find that exceptionally rude.”

“My personal life is none of your concern,” Adam said, forgetting about his full stomach and gearing up for battle.

“I realize that. She’s your business.” I grinned and then ducked as a satin throw pillow flew across the room and bounced off my shoulder. “Think she’ll like the beard? Is this the new you?”

“Keep it up, Joe and you’ll be sleeping out in the street.”

“Okay, boys, that’s enough. Why don’t we all go to bed and get a good night’s rest?”

“You sound eager, Pa. Did the bed arrive already?”

“It cost me a little extra, but yes,” Pa said. It’s in the upstairs room.”

“Well, in that case, Pa, I’ll kindly ask you to get up off my bed.”

Pa rolled his eyes as he stood up from the sofa. “Goodnight, Joseph.”

“Night, Pa. Night, Adam.” At least Adam would have something, or should I say someone to think about as he drifted off to sleep. I watched the two of them head upstairs then gathered up a quilt and pillow that Adam had left in the sideboard and stared down at the sofa. “Why did I have to be born the youngest?”

This was Pa’s last day in San Francisco, something I didn’t realize when I’d planned lunch with Abby, but Pa said it was fine. He had to eat somewhere so he was happy to join us, and I think he was anxious to meet this mystery girl named Kate. The more he knew about Adam’s life away from the Ponderosa, the more content he would be after he returned home.

Not all was lost in the fire, Adam told us yesterday, and after talking with Pa at great length about his future, he’d made it clear he planned to stay on in the city and see if he could make a go of it alone. He’d always made duplicate drawings, keeping them here at the house, and he was eager to inform his clients he would continue on with their plans even if he had to work from home until a new office could be procured.

Of course, this new firm would have a different name from before. It would be known as The Cartwright Firm, and since Adam never put any of his own money into Collier and Cartwright, he would be able to start anew with no financial worries whatsoever.

His plan was to work from home, keeping a low profile until Jackson was found and brought to trial. When this whole ugly business was over, and he could only hope it wasn’t front-page news, he would set up a new office, and maybe at some point, he’d be ready to hire an assistant or even a new partner, but for now, Adam was just ready to get on with his life.

I left a few minutes before Pa and Adam to go pick up Abby. Le Café was within walking distance and we would all meet there at 12:30 for lunch. Then afterward, Adam and Pa planned to take a coach around the city, keeping an eye out for new locations, somewhere Adam could possibly rent out the space he needed in a previously occupied building.

I planned to stay another week or so, seeing if I could help Adam out, and hopefully by then, maybe the detective would have some luck finding Jackson before I left to go home. I will admit to having an ulterior motive for staying, though, and her name was Miss Abigail Collier.

Hand-in-hand, Abby and I walked into Le Café, entering the restaurant before Pa and Adam arrived. Kate greeted us, and when I told her Adam and my father would be joining us, a hint of blush flowed slowly across her cheeks. She sat us at a corner table where we would be comfortable and could leisurely enjoy each other’s company long after the lunch crowd had cleared.

“Thank you, Kate.” I introduced Abby, and we took our seats just as Pa and Adam walked in. “Oh, there they are now.”

“Excuse me,” Kate said, hurrying back to the front door. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but Pa was smiling while Adam stroked his chin and seemed to be explaining his new look to Kate. When she turned and faced our way, she was glowing and more delighted than ever to see my older brother.

Although Adam wouldn’t admit anything, I could tell he was quite smitten with this young lady. Pa wasn’t blind; he’d been around the block a time or two himself, and he too, quickly picked up on the obvious attraction. As much as I’d been teased as a young man over my love life, Adam was no different than me, just a bit more subdued and controlled in his actions. I wanted to suggest an outing—the four of us together—but it wasn’t my place, so I’d have to wait for Adam to suggest a night out with the two lovely ladies.

We’d finished our meal and Kate was able to sit down with us while we ate our dessert. When we stood to leave, Detective O’Hara and one of his men came into the café. “Excuse me a minute,” I said, wanting to talk to Max without the ladies present.

“Max,” I said, extending my hand.

“Mr. Cartwright.”

“Joe, remember?”

“Sorry, son,” he said.

“Anything new?”

“I’ve been up all night, but I’m afraid it’s not your case we’ve been working.” I could tell O’Hara was beat and I knew I should leave him be and let him eat something so he could head home and get some rest. “Another young man was murdered last night,” he said, shaking his head, “We found this one, like most of the others, early this morning down near the wharf. Gruesome, throat slashed and . . . I’m sorry, Joe,” he said, rubbing his hand across his forehead. “I shouldn’t be speaking about this at all, but this whole new killing spree makes no sense.”

“How many is that now, Max?” Adam and I had been reading about the murders in the Chronicle but I’d lost count. It wasn’t a big story—close to the last page of the paper, which I found odd when it involved the ongoing deaths of these boys, but then again, I wasn’t from the city, where apparently, things were handled differently than I was used to.

He looked at his partner and then at me. “Seven—seven young men.”

I didn’t want to think of what he meant by gruesome. It must be something policemen get used to, but it didn’t seem as though Max was taking this case very well at all.

“Why isn’t this front-page news, Max?”

“They’re not the right kind of boys, Joe. All of these boys are just this side of destitute, wrong side of the tracks some would say—prostitutes—young men who no one cares about and are getting what they deserve according to the upper echelon of society. This is how they’ve chosen to make a living—to survive—but it looks as though someone is trying to wipe out every last one of them.”

“So no one cares,” I said, not really knowing what I could or should say to Max. I glanced over my shoulder to find Pa and everyone else walking our way. I leveled my hand toward the detective. “Get some sleep, Max.”

“No time for that today, I’m afraid.”

We said our goodbyes to Kat,e and Pa casually pushed Abby and me out the front door only to follow close behind. I couldn’t figure out what his hurry was until I noticed Adam had stayed inside.

“I’m going to walk Abby home, Pa. I’ll be back soon.”

“Adam wanted to show us the city. Aren’t you coming with us?”

“Would you mind if I didn’t, Pa. I have some things to take care of this afternoon.”

Pa rested his hand on my shoulder but glanced toward Abby. “We still owe this young lady an evening out, and since I’m leaving early tomorrow morning, I suggest we best let her choose a restaurant for tonight, that’s if it works for the two of you.”

“What do you say, Abby? Is tonight okay with you?”

“I’d love to and I thank you, Mr. Cartwright, but it’s really not necessary. I enjoy cooking for such appreciative men as you and your sons have been.”

“Tonight it is then. You pick the place and we’ll all meet at Adam’s at 5:00. How does that sound?”

“Sounds fine, Pa. You and Adam have a good time.” I would’ve gone with them, but I wanted Pa to have time alone with my brother. They could fill me in on their day’s adventures later, during dinner.

There was a slight breeze and the clouds still threatened rain but so far, the day was balmy and not too hot as we strolled, hand-in-hand, back to Abby’s. I thought of the statement O’Hara had made about the murders and how nobody cared. How had these young boys come to provide favors for—I guess I wasn’t sure if it was men or women? Most likely it was men—men who liked to take charge—men who felt powerful when they …

I took a deep breath. Thoughts of those boys were too much. I couldn’t allow myself to go there, not while I was with Abby. I could already feel my body tense, my palms becoming damp while tiny beads of sweat dotted my forehead.

“You’re a hundred miles away, Joe. Is anything wrong?”

“What? No, I was just thinking.”

“Joe?”

I smiled and squeezed her hand. “Everything’s fine.”

Something about Max’s case with the boys intrigued me. I wanted to talk to Max more, but would he let me into his inner circle? Maybe I could tell him I knew something about this type of man. Maybe that would help him figure out who he was hunting.

“Won’t you stay, just for a little while?” she said, as we approached her flat.

“Sure, I will, but just a few minutes.”

I needed to reassure Abby that there were no hard feelings. Maybe I needed to reassure myself. Still full from lunch, and knowing we had dinner plans, she didn’t offer me anything but coffee, which was fine with me.

We sat together on her settee and talked about certain matters of which I was unable to comment. Abby told me how much she loved her brother, how he’d always cared for her, and how he’d watched over and protected her when they were children. How he’d begged her to come to San Francisco so she could be part of his family and be able to watch her young nephew grow up.

It was obvious in the way she talked so lovingly about Jackson that she really had no idea of his whereabouts. I kept telling myself no one had proved that he was actually guilty, but why else would he have left town without a word to his wife or his sister? The police had to have sifted through the ashes making sure there were no remains, so if he was alive and he hadn’t set the fire, then why would he leave town?

“Joe?”

“Hmm—”

“What’s wrong? Have I said something?”

“No, I was just thinking, just wondering where your brother might be.”

I had my arm resting across the back of the sofa and I slipped my hand to rest on Abby’s shoulder. That seemed to be a cue for her to lean in closer to me and casually run her hand up my thigh. A surge of heat, an overwhelming feeling of passion for this woman compelled me to tilt her chin up and cover her lips with mine. As I pulled her toward me, her hand found its mark, handling me with such warmth, such ease, demanding more than I could—

The urge to escape, to run away from the firm pressure of her physical touch came over me so fast, I pushed her away. “Abby, no!” As soon as the words were said, I knew I’d hurt her. I felt her body tremble at my sudden outburst but I wouldn’t run this time.

“I’m sorry, Joe. I’m so sorry.”

I was speechless. What could I say? How could I ever explain?

“I—it’s just that when I’m with you, something comes over me, something I haven’t felt for a long time. I want to be closer to you, more intimate with you, but I …” She tilted her head up and looked into my eyes. “I know it’s wrong of me to say this to you, and I know you’ll only think me a brazen woman and utterly shameless, but God help me, Joe, I’ve fallen in love with you.”

I wiped away the tears she’d held back as long as she could. “Shh, don’t cry. I don’t find you that way at all. In fact, I’m flattered.”

“But you don’t love me.”

I sat for a minute. How could I explain? “There are certain things in my past, Abby, things I’m still trying to work out. It has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”

“Is there someone else? Another woman?”

“No. It’s not that at all,” I said, still holding her tight. “Believe me, you’re the only woman in my life.”

“I’ve made a fool of myself, haven’t I?”

“Please don’t say that.” I turned and sat on the edge of the settee, taking hold of her shoulders and facing her toward me. “I have feelings for you—deep feelings. I just need a little time to straighten things out. Also, this whole thing with my brother and with Jackson missing—it’s on my mind all the time. You still haven’t heard from your brother, have you?”

“No.”

I needed to change the direction of the conversation. The question of love, and the intimacy we’d ultimately share if we took that path, was too much for me to deal with or even talk about. More than anything I wanted to be able to lie next to Abby, to hold her in my arms, caress her body, and make love to her, but the time wasn’t right and I wasn’t sure it ever would be.

“Now,” I said, “I have a few errands I need to run before we meet for supper.”

“Are you sure you want to be seen with me after what—”

I kissed her cheek. “Stop all that nonsense. I’ll be back around 4:30 to pick you up—okay?”

“If you’re sure—”

“I’m very sure.”

Gray skies and gentle drizzle, just enough to dampen my clothes when I left Abby’s. I had plenty of time to walk down to the precinct and see if the detective could meet me before I needed to dress for dinner. I also wanted a little time by myself, time to think things through, and wet clothes were the least of my worries.

I walked up the steps and through the double doors of the station. I asked the officer at the front desk if O’Hara was free to see me.

“Your name?”

“Joe Cartwright.”

He headed down the hallway and stopped at the third door on the right then waved me down. “Thank you,” I said.

“I’m surprised to see you, Joe?”

“Mind if I warm up a minute?”

“I take it you’re on foot?”

“Yeah, the station was a little farther than I remembered. Guess I should have grabbed a cab.”

I stood in front of O’Hara’s stove, rubbing my palms together. After warming my hands, I sat down in a chair opposite the detective, leaned forward, and rested my arms on his desk.

“I can’t get those murders outta my mind, Max. I know it sounds strange but I may be able to help.”

“Help? I don’t understand.”

“You said these boys were prostitutes. I think the term they used in the Chronicle was boy-whores.”

“Yeah, go on,” he said, slowly like Adam does when he’s not quite sure what I’m getting at.

“Were they assaulted before they were murdered?”

“I don’t understand what this has to do with you or with your brother’s case.”

“To be honest, nothing at all. I don’t know, Max, but these murders are all I’ve thought about since you mentioned another boy was killed, and I thought maybe I could help you out somehow.”

“This is police business, Joe. You best not concern yourself.”

“I know all that, but you see … I have a friend, an acquaintance really, a young man who was taken advantage of, forced to do things that weren’t right, and—well, he told me once what he went through, and I just thought I’d fill you in on what happened to him and that might help you solve the case. Does that make any sense?”

“It might, Joe, but these young men are willing. They do this for a living, so I don’t see how—”

“No, Max,” I interrupted, “they’re not willing. It’s just all they know. They’ve been forced into this kind of life. Maybe it was worse at home than out on the streets. Maybe they were beaten or starving and this was their only way out, their only means of support. No one does that sort of thing willingly. No one, Max.”

“That may be true and it may tell me something about these young men, at least in your opinion, but nothing about the killer. The only thing we do know is that these boys seem to trust this man. They leave their establishment willingly so we have to assume he’s a regular, but no one we’ve talked to so far has given us a description or a name.”

“What do you mean by a regular?”

“You know, regulars, regular customers I should say, men who visit the various houses of prostitution down there close to the wharf.”

“These places where this happens—you mean the boys live there?” Damn, was I naïve or what? First the scotch whiskey and now whorehouses with boys filling the rooms rather than women. I’d been living on a ranch way too long. Welcome to the city, Joe Cartwright.

“Sure they are, Joe. The Galaxy, and The Golden Boy—those are just two out of about 20-30 places like that just in my precinct. Half the time, you’d never even know they were boys. They paint their faces and take on a new name, a female name. So maybe a boy named Max calls himself Maxine or Joe becomes Josephine—you know what I mean.”

I shuddered at the references he’d used. “I’m a little backward, I guess. I never knew there were places where men could—you know, with boys.”

“Now mind you, Joe, the female whorehouses outnumber the boy’s by maybe 20-1, so these all-male establishments are just a small part of San Francisco’s sordid, more disreputable side.”

“And it’s all legal?”

“It sure is,” O’Hara said. “You’re not gonna tell me there aren’t any whore houses in your neck of the woods, are you, Joe?”

“Yeah, there’s plenty, but there are no young men painted up like ladies, at least I don’t think there are. I’m just trying to picture all this in my mind and I’m not doing a very good job, am I?”

“Here’s something else that might interest you, now that you know more about the decadent and often perverted brand of nightlife in our fair city. There’s what’s called a Gentleman’s Directory, a small guidebook of sorts, with locations, and most important—advertising their, shall we say, favors—favors the male or female whores of these social establishments will provide for the client.”

This was more than I’d bargained for. I found myself scrubbing my hands up and down my face. I had no idea. I truly was a small-town boy. “This has been quite a learning experience, Max.”

“Welcome to the world of prostitution, Joe.”

“Just tell me again why this isn’t front-page news, Max. If these boys are being murdered—seven you said, right? Then I don’t understand why the whole city isn’t concerned and demanding the murdered be caught.”

“As I said before, these boys are immigrants, Joe. They are the lowest social class in the city. Some were born, actually, most of them were probably born here, but their parents don’t speak the language. Their fathers can’t find decent jobs—their mothers might take in laundry or some other menial task, which only brings in pennies a day. Fathers can’t feed their families. More often than not, the fathers turn to drink, and as you said before, they beat their children or beat their wives. Any way you look at it, Joe, it’s a rotten existence for the entire family.”

“Like our Chinese people in Virginia City.”

“Nevada?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“That’s home. My father owns a ranch outside of Virginia City.” I’d been here too long. I needed to get back to Adam’s, shed these wet clothes, and try to sort out everything Max had said. “I’ve taken up too much of your time, Max.” I stood up and shook the man’s hand.

“Stop by anytime, Joe. It’s been nice talking to you.”

“Thanks. I will.”

Dinner was—well, it should have been an enjoyable experience for all, but my mind was in a far-off place. I found myself picturing what those boys’ daily lives must have been like to seek out the kind of life they’d chosen. Had their young lives been filled with fear of drunken fathers, maybe beatings, or was it mere pennies to live on? Was this the only way they could free themselves from whatever predicament they found themselves living through at home?

But it was the senseless murders of these boys, who no one in this city seemed to care about, which in turn prevented me from listening to anything else that was said during supper even when the issue of finding Jackson or the cause of the fire was mentioned.

Unknown to me, Adam had invited Kate, and the five of us rode in a covered coach to one of the finer restaurants in San Francisco, one that had been built after the earthquake of ’65. But my mind drifted off to a seedier part of the city where the murder of another young boy, dressed and painted up like a lady of the night, could be taking place while we sat and enjoyed Henri’s famous French cooking.

“Joseph?” Pa said.

“Sir?”

“Are you with us, son?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to laugh off my rudeness, knowing I’d contributed nothing all evening long. “I’m sorry. My mind was elsewhere.” I glanced at Abby and smiled, but I could see she’d noticed my absence too.

Quickly, though, I was back to my musings. I couldn’t, and I would never attempt to explain how close I’d come to being killed or wishing I could die in my cell. How easily I could put myself in any of those young boys’ boots and know what their lives consisted of every single night. Maybe death was a godsend for them but that’s not how I’d been raised. My father taught me life was precious whereas these boys’ lives had been damaged so early on that eventually there was no reason or earthly desire to live.

Did the boys fight back against this man, a man who’d earned their trust, thinking they’d earn a few measly coins pleasuring him, but suddenly, when they least expect it, everything changes and becomes violent?

Did this man’s—this murderer’s aggressive behavior bring forth arousal, or did the lack of physical change force him to act more violently? Did the attacker become angry, then kill his victim due to his own humiliation, his own shortcomings as a man?

My mind worked overtime and I couldn’t understand why I was so obsessed with the whole nightmare. That’s what it had become to me—a living nightmare. I had so many unanswered questions but who could I ask? I couldn’t dare say anything more to Max or he’d realize too much—put two and two together—and consequently he’d ask for more information than I’d be willing to share.

Topped off with a flaming dessert, which everyone at our table ‘ooed’ and ‘ahed’ over, quickly brought me back into the celebration at hand, and our dinner at Henri’s was finished. The large, covered cab dropped Abby and me off at her flat first and I leaned into Pa, telling him I would walk home from there. He thought he knew why but in reality, I only planned to bid her a quick goodnight at the door.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t the greatest company tonight,” I said after she’d unlocked her door.

“Will you at least come in for a nightcap?”

I took her hands in mine, leaned in, and kissed her on the cheek. “I need to go, but I’d love to see you tomorrow if that’s all right with you. A picnic maybe?”

“Until tomorrow then, Joe. Make sure you tell your father thanks again.”

Abby looked disappointed, but before she walked through the threshold, she turned and faced me. She reached up, and locked her fingers behind my neck, pulling me close until our lips met. Neither of us cared what the neighbors might think when we groped hungrily at each other as the kiss deepened into something that could have gone much further if I’d let it. “I love you, Joe,” she whispered softly in my ear then gently closed the door, leaving me desiring her more.

By the time I arrived home, Adam and Pa had already put on a pot of coffee and were sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for me to show up. I may have shocked my father when I walked in much earlier than he’d expected.

“That didn’t take long, son,” he said, for lack of anything else he could have said.

“Nope,” I said, joining the two of them at the kitchen table and finding the morning paper still lying there as I hoped it would be. I unfolded it, and starting with the last page, I skimmed until I found what I was looking for.

It was a short article with a modest-sized header on the third-to-last page—Murders Continue.

“What are you reading, son?”

“Just something Max O’Hara mentioned when I asked him about Jackson and the investigation,” I said. “Seems there’s a killer on the loose and the case has taken precedence in his precinct over anything Jackson may have done.”

“May have done?” Adam questioned.

“Well, you have to admit, big brother, we don’t know for sure it was him.”

“But I thought you and O’Hara were almost positive he started the fire.”

“I’m not saying he didn’t, Adam. I’m just saying Jackson and the fire have moved to the back burner as far as the investigation goes.” Adam and Pa looked at each other, a note of confusion between them. “What?” I said out of irritation and I’m not sure why I even felt that way.

“Nothing, Joe,” Adam said, before standing, refilling his and Pa’s cups, and grabbing a cup for me.

I read the story, and although it was brief, it did mention where the seventh body was located in relation to the other six boys who’d been murdered. I wasn’t that far from where the murders had taken place the night I’d been beaten and robbed, consequently, spending the night in the backroom of Silas Barton’s barbershop.

I was becoming way too preoccupied with the unsolved murders—these boys, who had been willing to venture into this world of prostitution of their own free will. What kind of man uses boys for his own gratification, and why, if that’s not what he’s after, does he take them out and kill them? Why does he feel the need to kill?

“Joe?”

It was Pa’s voice again pulling me back into his world. “What?” I said, setting down the newspaper and facing my father.

“Are you about ready to call it a night? I know I am.”

“Yep,” I said, a little too cheerfully. “The sofa awaits.”

I’d let my coffee grow cold so I picked up my cup and poured the remains in the sink. “Pa?”

“Yes, son.”

“What time are you leaving tomorrow?”

“You trying to get rid of me, boy?”

“No,” I laughed, “not at all. I just didn’t know if we had to be up early or not.”

“Not really, son. My train doesn’t leave until 9:00 tomorrow morning.”

“Good. So Adam and I will take you down to the station then, right?”

“You sure you won’t come back with me?”

Pa’s hand slipped across my shoulder, and he pulled me in close to his side. I was leaving Pa, and especially Hoss, shorthanded, but I hoped Adam and I could get the whole Jackson affair settled before I returned home. And since we didn’t know exactly which one of us he was after, I wasn’t comfortable leaving my older brother alone.

“Well, if Adam can put up with me, I’ll stay on for another week or so.”

“We’ll manage, son. I may have to pull Tim Wilson down from the mill if Hoss hasn’t done so already.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand if you do.”

Pa and Adam both bid me goodnight, after which I crossed the room and sat down on the sofa. Instead of blowing out the lamp and gathering up my pillow and blanket, I went back and picked up the newspaper again.

I glanced at the name of the reporter who’d written the story, Jake Jacobs, thinking maybe he was the one person I could talk to about the murders. I ripped out the article and slipped it into my shirt pocket. Maybe he’d give me the straight story.

We said our goodbyes at the train station the following morning. Pa slipped his arm around me; I knew he hated to leave, but even with Hoss running the ranch and no doubt accomplishing exactly what Pa would have wanted, my father was eager to get home, which set my mind to wandering. Why had each of us taken the stage out here with the new train line running straight into Reno? Old habits are hard to break, I guess, but I knew I’d be taking the train home rather than the stage when the time came.

Pa had done his duty as a father, making sure Adam was well taken care of. He’d taken my place as a nursemaid, changing bandages and sitting through coughing spells that were nearly gone now. Adam was breathing deeper and able to get around the city on his own accord so Pa felt it was time for him to get back to what he loved as much as his sons, his home.

“I’ll see you in about a week or so,” I said, reassuring my father I wasn’t planning to bunk in with Adam forever.

“Be careful, son,” he said, leaning in, whispering words he’d used since the day I’d taken my first steps across the hard-planked floor of the ranch house.

I looked into my father’s eyes, winked, and smiled, aware there was an underlying danger out there with Jackson still nowhere in sight, but Adam and I would handle it the best we knew how. “Don’t worry, Pa, I’ll take good care of Adam.”

“You do that, Joseph,” he said, knowing it had always been my eldest brother, the conscientious one, the rock-steady one, who’d always been my protector, not the other way around.

As he said his final words to each of us before boarding, I knew I’d miss my father, but it wouldn’t be long until I was home. It was also time to get back to what I knew best; riding fence, chasing ornery steers, even cleaning out muddy streams with beaver dams plugging up the works. I missed Hoss and the time we shared together and I wondered how Tim was handling the mill and everything else Hoss asked him to do in my absence.

Adam had given reasons for rebuilding his office after he and Pa had driven around the city, not finding anything worthwhile to rent. Adam had seen nothing like his original building with its Gothic architecture, its high ceilings, and abundance of natural light.

His plans today were to talk to the city commissioner about rebuilding and all that was involved in using the original structure. He had questions about what kind of licensing he would need before he started a project within the city limits. There was still the fact that he and Jackson owned the building together, and if his partner was alive and well, Jackson still owned a half interest. Adam had numerous questions, and like me, he wasn’t sure where to turn or what to do next.

I was heading down to the Chronicle to find Mr. Jacobs. I’d used Abby as an excuse, telling Adam she and I’d planned to picnic down by the harbor, but I’d be back to his place before supper. It was just a little lie, and besides, I’d told Abby we’d picnic today so I had to fit that in too, but talking to Mr. Jacobs was first on my list.

I hailed a cab this time around. I didn’t have time to waste if I wanted to catch the reporter I hoped hadn’t already left his office on some important assignment. The driver pulled up in front of the Chronicle and after handing him some coins, I ran up the steps and into the large, stone building.

“I’m looking for Jake Jacobs,” I said to the first person I saw.

“Jacobs? Up the stairs; second door on your right.”

“Thanks,” I said, glancing ahead at the wide staircase that took up a large section of the main floor. Taking the stairs two at a time, I found Jacob’s door open and a man about my age, sitting behind the desk.

When he didn’t look up, I tapped on the doorframe, which quickly got his attention. “May I help you?” he said, giving me an odd look.

“You Jacobs?”

“I am.”

“Can I come in?”

He nodded. “Have a seat, Mr.—”

“Cartwright, Joe Cartwright.”

He’d stood briefly, shook my hand, and then sat back down behind his desk. “You’re not from around here are you, Mr. Cartwright?”

“No, sir. Nevada, sir.” My choice of clothes gave me away.

“Nevada’s a wild place, is it not, Mr. Cartwright?”

“Call me, Joe, Mr. Jacobs, and I beg to differ, sir.”

“All right, Joe. Maybe I should have said a bit uncivilized, is that a more appropriate word?”

“No, I’d say we’re much more civilized in Nevada.”

“How’s that?” He spoke to me in such a manner that I believed he was trying to insult me.

He leaned back in his chair, waiting for me to point out the differences between two completely different cultures, which was ridiculous to begin with, and a total waste of time.

“Well?”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but I didn’t come here to discuss the differences between city life and the wilds of Nevada,” I said, hoping to get us moving in another direction.

“Why did you come then?”

I leaned in towards Jacobs, resting my elbows on my knees and fiddling nervously with the brim of my hat while I searched for the right words. “I’m interested in all you know, but can’t write about in the paper, concerning the murders of those young boys.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m very serious, Mr. Jacobs, and I may be able to help.”

“Then maybe you should be talking to detectives, Joe Cartwright, not reporters.” Jacobs stood from his chair as if the discussion was over and I should leave.

I stood up so I could be of equal height with my opponent. “I’d like to know more about the case and the police aren’t talking so you’re my last hope.”

Jacobs shrugged his shoulders and sat back down. I followed suit. “Okay, what do you want to know?”

“Well, there have been seven boys already, right?”

“Right—”

“And you know there will be more before the murderer’s caught, right?”

“Maybe—”

“Do the police have any leads so far—I mean anything they aren’t allowing you to write about in the paper? How old are these young men? Were any of them assaulted? Do the police think it’s just one man? Do they have a susp—”

“Whoa, slow down there,” he said. “Let’s take a walk, shall we?”

I nodded my head although I was a bit confused. “All right.”

Jacobs rolled down the sleeves of his pristine, white shirt and grabbed his suit jacket and hat from the wooden hall tree behind his desk. “Let’s go,” he said. “Oh, wait a minute. He stepped back into his office and took one of three black umbrellas he had in a stand by the door.

I followed him to the front door of the Chronicle where he stopped and addressed a man carrying an armful of folders. “I’ll be out of the office for a couple of hours, Charles.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Jacobs.”

I had trouble keeping up with Jake Jacobs. The man was on a mission, and without saying a word to me, he hailed a small cab and we were traveling west toward the wharf, the place where the murders had taken place, at least that’s what I’d read in his byline.

As the one-horse cab rolled along, the fog became denser the closer we got to the bay. It rippled, almost banner-like, as it flowed past the small hansom. Jacobs tapped his umbrella on the side of the carriage, signaling the driver we’d reached our destination. After handing the driver some coins, up through the trap door in the roof, the driver released the lever, opening the door to let us out of the cab. “I don’t know why I’m doing this, Joe. I’m not accustomed to bringing men I’ve only just met to murder sites.”

“I appreciate you taking—” Again, he raised his umbrella, which he was now using as a walking stick, and I assumed it was to shut me up, so I said no more as I tried to keep up with this man who was determined to get where he was going.

He stopped abruptly, as we stood by the wharf and pointed, again with the umbrella, to a spot on the ground. “Here,” he said, “number five.” We took off walking down a muddy slope before I could say a word. “Number three,” he said, pointing. Again, we walked. “This young man—the youngest at fourteen years old—killed by some maniac, who, as you said in my office, will most likely strike again.”

I could sense his temper rising, and I remained quiet. With what he’s witnessed, and with no support from the community, I could sense he was frustrated and angry about the whole situation, even if he was only a reporter. We moved a little closer to the water and Jacobs sat down on a cast-iron bench overlooking the bay. I sat down next to him and waited. He finally revealed his feelings.

“I’ve been at this for eight years, Joe, and I’ve never seen anything as horrible or as gruesome as I’ve seen this past couple of weeks.”

“You mean this guy’s killed seven boys in just a couple of weeks?”

“That’s right.” He tapped the tip of his umbrella on the ground and then lifted his head up and looked out over the bay. “You asked if these boys had been assaulted. The answer is no. You asked if it was just one man—probably. You asked if they had a suspect—maybe. Not much to go on is there?”

“Tell me about the suspect—I mean, is he old, young—what?” All I could picture in my mind was Harold Collier or someone just as repulsive and despicable.

“Why are you so interested, Joe? I don’t get it.”

I hesitated to tell him but I flew through the same story I’d give Max O’Hara. “I knew a man once, a man, who, if he were still alive today would be the kind of man who would do this sort of thing so I’m just curious I guess.”

“I take it this man hurt you in some way.”

“That’s not what I said, Mr. Jacobs. I just said I knew someone who was evil—evil and despicable and had the mindset to act in this manner.” Did I let something slip? Did I say the wrong thing—give the wrong impression? Jacobs was smart. I needed to watch myself with him.

“I didn’t mean to infer—” he said, but I got him back on track.

“You said the police had someone in mind—a suspect.”

“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I? What are you, Joe, about twenty-eight, thirty?”

“Yeah, why?”

“My guess is you’re a rancher, a cowboy maybe,” he said, smiling. “You break horses or push cattle, something along those lines. Am I close?”

“Very close, why?”

“That’s your job and this is my job, Joe. When the facts aren’t all there I have to guess at the rest.   I piece puzzles together in a certain way from the information I’m given, just like the police would, but back to your question about the suspect. He, or at least the only man they’re considering a suspect, is a man who frequents these all-male houses, and he’s gained the boys’ trust.

“It’s possible he befriends them by playing pool with them or maybe cards. He might just sit with them and talk, making them comfortable enough to do what he asks. Then, after the boy seems at ease, he’s more apt to leave with him rather than go to one of the rooms inside the houses where the boys would be relatively safe.

“The police won’t say much, but they think he’s around forty or so, blue eyes, brown hair, and he sports a beard. He dresses well, speaks well, and oh yes, he has a deformed hand, kind of curled up they say, probably useless or at least partially.”

I couldn’t swallow the lump in my throat. I stood up suddenly, hooked my thumbs in the back of my gunbelt, and stared anywhere but at Jake Jacobs. This couldn’t be real. It had to be a mistake, someone we didn’t know, a stranger, a …

“Joe?”

I shook my head but still, I couldn’t turn around and look at him. Maybe I was way off track. Heck, I was no detective or anything close to one.

“Joe? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I arched my back, as if I were stretching out the kinks, and then turned back to Jacobs. “I’ve probably taken up too much of your time already. We might as well head on back.”

Jacobs stayed seated on the bench; he didn’t move a muscle. He only stared at me, and then slowly the umbrella’s tip rose up from the ground and he pointed it straight at my face, marking my thoughts, knowing what I hadn’t said aloud. “You know this man. You’re familiar with the man I described.” Jacobs stood up slowly, never blinking, never taking his eyes off mine. “You know him, don’t you?”

“I’ve already told you,” I said, “I’m just visiting here from the wilds of Nevada. How could I possibly know the man you’ve described? Tell me—how?”

“You said you could help with the investigation. You need to be straight with me now. Who is he?” I started to walk away but Jacobs reached out and grabbed my arm. “Who is he, Joe?”

“I don’t know!”

I could only think of my brother and how Jackson and he were best friends. What had happened to change all of that? It couldn’t have been just me. And then there was Abby, the only woman I cared deeply about. How could I tell her, after already killing her father, that now, I would name her only brother as a murder suspect? It couldn’t be him. It had to be someone else.

“Okay, Joe,” Jacobs said. “You go back to your comfortable life in your little hotel room or wherever you’re staying, and you think about it. You think long and hard about the seven boys who have been murdered right here, right in this very place, and after you’ve thought it through, and hopefully before another young man is murdered, you’ll have the sense to come to me and you tell me who that man is.”

I glared at Jacobs. He had no right to lay all of this on me. I had family and friends to consider. What if it wasn’t Jackson? What if I’d matched him up because he happened to fit the description—the lame arm—but if it wasn’t him? What then?

I started up the muddy hill; my mood was long past reasonable. I didn’t need this man, Jacobs, telling me what to do. I needed to think things through, and I couldn’t think straight with him hounding me, needling me into saying something I’d regret later on. I didn’t turn back to see if he was following me, but if he had been, I think I’d given him my best left hook, leaving him to rot among the sights of the seven dead boys.

I was alone. I stood on the street corner trying to hail a cab and get as far away from Jacobs as possible, but when a small hansom stopped, I climbed in, and low and behold, the infuriating Mr. Jacobs stepped in right after me. “I didn’t plan on sharing,” I said harshly.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me anyway, doesn’t it?”

I’d given the driver Abby’s address, but after we’d gone just a couple of blocks, I turned to the driver, sitting high up behind me, and popped open the trap door, telling him to let me out on the corner. I wasn’t about to let Jacobs know where she lived or the connection that would follow.

“Have a nice ride,” I said, after jumping out of the cab.

Jacobs smiled and raised his umbrella as if saluting me before the carriage moved on down the road. I stood on the street corner, feeling like the fool of all fools. Jacobs wasn’t going to let this go and I didn’t have a clue as to what to do next.

I wasn’t ready to face Abby.  I couldn’t tell her where I’d been all day or what I’d been up to with the Chronicle’s reporter but I’d promised her a visit, a picnic in fact, so I’d walk from here to her place. I could have hired another cab, but I needed time to think, and I figured walking might help clear my head. What I hadn’t realized was that I’d jumped out of the Hansom about a block away from Silas’s Barbershop and there he stood, leaning against his white, frame building, smoking a hand-rolled cigar.

“That you, Joe Cartwright?”

“Silas,” I said, walking up to the man and shaking his hand. “Good to see you.”

“Glad to see you’s all in one piece this time.”

“That I am.”

“I see you’s still walkin’. You need some pocket change for a cab?”

“No, but thanks, Silas. I was just out for a walk.”

“This ain’t no place for someone like you to be walkin’, son. You outta know that after the last time you’s down here.”

“I guess I should,” I said, embarrassed and rubbing the back of my neck as I looked away.

“How’s about a cup of coffee ‘fore ya take off again.”

“Sure, I’d like that.”

Delsey put on a pot of coffee, and after she poured us each a cup, she said in a flippant little voice, “Some of us ’round here gots work needs done.” Silas winked at me then gave his wife a quick, tender kiss on the cheek. “All right,” she said, her voice a little sweeter this time, “I leave you two to your man talk.”

“What’s you really doin’ down this way, Joe?”

I sipped my hot coffee and set the chipped mug down on the table. “What do you know about all these boys who’ve been murdered down around here, Silas?”

“Well, I knows two of them boys. Yes sir, brothers they was. Used to hang ‘round my shop when they was young pups, but they was poor folks, never had a coin in their pocket, ‘specially for a haircut.” He winked at me, then turned to see if Delsey was out of hearing range and whispered, “I’d give ‘em each a little trim anyway. They was nice boys.”

“Why’d they leave?”

“I said them’s was nice boys, Joe, but I didn’t say they had the right kinda upbringin’. Them boys was immigrants, German I think, cuz’n they didn’t speak the language so good, and no one in this city takes kindly to no immigrant boys. They was poor—real poor—lot’s worse off than me and my Delsey. You wouldn’t be served no coffee at them boys’ homes, no sir.

“When a fella’s that poor; when there’s no money comin’ in, things is rough. Them boys was bruised up most the time, beaten I ‘spect. Then they was sent out to find work when they was too young to do much of anythin’ worthwhile. They never had time for no schoolin’ or playin’ like they shoulda been doin’.

“Them two boys would come by the shop and I could see them cuts and bruises on that peachy, white skin a theirs. Heck, I usta get them boys to sweep up the floors right here in the shop for a couple of pennies, but I couldn’t keep givin’ ‘em money I didn’t have.”

“But when did they start doing—you know—that’s what got them both killed, right?”

“You see, Joe, they was makin’ some decent money, doin’—you know—so they didn’t have to live in their papa’s houses no more. It ain’t good when your growing-up years is such a miserable thing. They finally had a place of their own, even if these boy houses ain’t nothin’ more’n a roof over their heads, I guess doin’ that sorta thing was better than the life they’s used to at home.”

“I guess.” I’d let my coffee get cold, as did Silas. “I best be on my way,” I said. “Tell Delsey thanks for the coffee; oh and thanks again for the hospitality.”

Silas stood up after I did and walked me to the front door. “See them kids?”

He pointed to a group of young boys playing stickball in the street. “Them boys you talkin’ ‘bout what’s half-growed and bein’ kilt, well, they ain’t never gots to play in the streets like these boys when they was just young’uns, know what I mean?”

Maybe I was beginning to understand why those murdered boys felt they had to leave home and why the life they chose was better than what they’d left behind. It was a matter of survival. I understood more than I should about survival. In some ways, I was no different from those boys. Unlike the immigrants Silas talked about, I’d had a decent childhood. Pa and my brothers and even Hop Sing saw to that but things change. A person surrenders to his fate and does what he must to survive.

I smiled up at Silas and shook the man’s hand, and after wishing him well, knowing I’d probably never see him again, I started up the street toward Abby’s. It wasn’t that late in the day and I knew I still had enough time to walk to her flat and visit with her for a while. Though the picnic was out, I wouldn’t blame her if she told me to get lost and never come back.

On the other hand, I could tell her the truth. “So, Abby, I’ve come to the startling conclusion that your brother has been murdering boy-whores.” That’s sure to get a conversation started and end any relationship we had.

I was torn between blurting out the unthinkable or pretending I hadn’t heard a word Jacobs said. I could talk it over with Adam first—tell him what I’d found out today, but there’d be too many questions I didn’t want to answer.

I came to the final rise and Abby’s flat was just down the hill. I noticed someone, a man dressed in black, a man I didn’t recognize coming out of her front door, and I was more than a little curious.

Hiding behind a front stoop, I watched the man, who was walking my way. I saw a break in the structures, an alley between flats only half a block down, and I darted into the building’s tall shadow.

My heart pounded fast. Did Abby have a lover, a man who could offer her what I could not? I leaned back, flattening myself against the stone wall, waiting, but becoming enraged at what I believed could be true.

Halfway up the block, the man crossed the cobblestone street, but even from across this distance, I felt stunned and sick to my stomach. I knew exactly who he was. My eyes closed in, straight to his deformed left hand.

Jackson—it was all a lie. She’d been hiding him out or at least she’d been in contact with him. All this time, she’d led me to believe he was missing, crying and begging me to find her long-lost brother.

I’d fallen for the whole made-up story, hook, line, and sinker. Adam suspected her of knowing something all along and he’d tried to convince me, tried to make me realize things may not be as they seem. I didn’t listen. I’d already made up my mind that everything she’d told me was true. What a damn fool I’d been.

I waited until he was completely out of sight, then I promptly made my way down to Abby’s. I didn’t bother to knock. I opened the door and walked through the threshold where Abby stood, two small glasses resting in the palm of her hand.

“Sharing a drink with someone, Abby?”

“Joe,” she said, breathlessly. “I didn’t know when you’d get here?”

“That’s obvious.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean.” She set the glasses down on the mahogany coffee table and started toward me. She reached up for me and I grabbed tightly to her wrists. “Not this time, Abby.”

“You’re hurting me, Joe. Please,” She struggled to free herself but I wasn’t the fool, the naïve man she’d deceived since the day I’d arrived in town. The fact that she’d conveniently met me at the hospital—was that all planned too? She told me she loved me—lies, more lies, but why?

“What game are you playing, Abby?”

“Joe, please,” I gripped her wrists even tighter.

“What game?” I felt her tremble as her eyes became glassy with tears. “One more time, Abby, what game are you and Jackson playing?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Joe.” I was getting nowhere, but I wasn’t about to leave until I had the whole story—the entire explanation laid out for me.

“I just saw your long-lost brother, leaving this house. Do you still plan to tell me you know nothing about Jackson’s whereabouts?” She yanked hard, trying to free her arms, but I held tight. I was leaving marks. “Is he living here with you, Abby? Has he been here this entire time?”

“You don’t understand, Joe. He had nowhere else to—”

“Why isn’t he living with his wife and son? Why can’t he live with them, Abby? Why?”

“Joe, please let go. You’re hurting me.” Tears tracked down her reddened cheeks as she pleaded for release.

“You don’t know what the word means, Abby. You don’t know real hurt but you will if you don’t start talking.”

I was close to the edge; blood surged through my veins as my heart pumped overtime. I needed to remain in control before I did her real harm, but an overwhelming sense of rage kept me from letting her go. I gripped tighter. I wanted to hurt her; I wanted her to feel pain, the same pain I felt when—

No! Something inside me snapped, something inside said stop, and I dropped my hands, releasing my grip and letting her go.

I watched, almost in a daze as she ran her fingers over her reddened wrists, and even though she didn’t look up, her face was still damp with tears. I’d left marks—brutal marks I couldn’t take back.

“I’m sorry,” I said, though it would never make up for the dominant, controlling way I’d handled the situation.

She didn’t answer; she turned and walked away, leaving me standing alone in her parlor as she headed toward the kitchen in the rear of her home. What could I possibly say?

When Abby came back into the parlor, she handed me two fingers of scotch and kept one for herself. “Sit down, Joe. I’ll try to explain.” I took a sip, and it tasted worse than I remembered. I sat in the chair rather than the sofa. I couldn’t be near her for fear of what I might do, and as it turned out, this time she sat down on the farthest end of the sofa.

I couldn’t help but stare at the redness—my very own handprints—I’d left on her wrists. I cringed at what I’d done and looked away, thinking how badly I’d wanted to hurt her. The rage I felt was gone now, and in one fell swoop, I tipped the glass of scotch and then shivered slightly at the strong and bitter taste.

“My brother’s scared, sweetheart,” she said. I looked away again, anywhere but at Abby after the endearment she’d used. “There are rumors circulating that my brother started the fire at Collier and Cartwright. I don’t know where such ugly talk would begin but he’s afraid. Jackson and Adam are best friends and have been for years. He would never do anything to hurt your brother or the business he took years to build.” She paused for a minute, and I watched again, as she inadvertently rubbed her wrists. “Do you understand what I’m saying? Do you, Joe?”

I listened but how could I believe her story, although that wasn’t the worst of it. My mind was on Jacobs and what he’d dumped on me earlier today.

My head spun, but not from the tale Abby told or even the scotch. I felt nauseous and confused. My vision faded; everything around me blurred into a strange uneven grayness. I wiped beads of sweat from my forehead and looked across the small room where Abby sat, continuing to massage her swollen wrists. Blinking repeatedly, I thought I saw her smile, but I couldn’t be sure of anything.

I stood from the high-backed chair, but I swayed and touched my fingers to the arm to steady myself. My legs were like jelly as I walked toward the window. Dark clouds were gathering; a horse and carriage made their way up the cobblestone street, but when I turned back to Abby, I couldn’t form words. I couldn’t move my legs. I tried to step forward, stumbled, and reached for anything before darkness …

After realizing Joe didn’t have a key and hearing a knock on the front door, Adam crossed his small parlor to let his brother in. He was surprised to see Abigail Collier standing on the stoop, holding a black umbrella, protecting herself from the driving rain.

“Abigail, come in,” he said, pulling the door wider to accommodate her and the open umbrella.

“Thank you, Adam.” After leading her into the parlor, Adam leaned out the threshold, shook off the excessive dampness, and set the umbrella in the stand by the door.

“Joe’s not with you?”

“You mean he’s not here? When he didn’t come by today, that is, after he said he would, I began to worry. I thought maybe something had happened to you or to your father.”

“No, Joe’s been gone since around 9:00 this morning. We took my father to the train station and he mentioned something about taking you on a picnic.”

“That’s right but he never showed. Where could he be, Adam?”

“I—I don’t know. It’s not like Joe to break a date.”

“Maybe I should go back home, just in case he—Adam, you don’t think Joe’s hurt or in trouble somewhere, do you?”

Adam had a curious feeling that he knew where Joe might’ve gone after leaving the train station. He’d noticed the torn-out section of the newspaper and remembered the article about the murdered boys. But even if he’d gone to talk to the reporter, it shouldn’t take all day.

“Adam?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Abigail.”

“Adam Cartwright,” she said, pressing her hands on her hips. “Why won’t you call me Abby like everyone else?”

Adam folded his arms across his chest and leaned heavily on one foot. “I’m not sure,” he said, smiling. “It just seemed more professional while we were in a working situation. But, if you wish, now that neither of us has a position to maintain, I’ll try to break the habit.”

“That’s much better.” She smiled at the tall, handsome man and turned to peer out the window. “Look, Adam, the storm’s practically over. I’ll head home. I just hope there’s—well, I hope Joe’s all right.” She lifted her umbrella as she stepped out the door. “Fingers crossed.”

“I’ll remind my young brother of the commitment he made as soon as he returns.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m sure something held him up, and everything will be fine by tomorrow.” She took the steps slowly and turned back to Adam. “Bye-bye.”

Adam remained in the doorway. He pulled out his pocket watch from his tailored, black slacks, a pair he’d bought after arriving in San Francisco, determined to look the part of a successful businessman rather than a Nevada ranch hand—4:20 p.m. He just might have time to make it down to the Chronicle and find out who’d written the article Joe was so interested in. He grabbed his suit coat and umbrella, and after locking the door behind him, he headed in the opposite direction from Miss Abigail Collier.

“Did Adam buy the story?”

“Of course, he did, Jackson. Among my many talents, I’m a good actor when I need to be. I fooled Joe Cartwright, didn’t I?” But a twinge of guilt fell over her when she mentioned Joe’s name aloud. He’d been nothing but kind; a bona fide gentleman in fact, even after she’d tried everything in her power to seduce him, to have him fall in love with her when her brother had asked her to work her magic on the handsome cowboy from Nevada.

Jackson leaned over and kissed his sister’s cheek, and her attitude toward Joe changed. She knew exactly why she’d utilized her gift for handling a man, and in the process, she had garnered her brother’s praise. Joe Cartwright was a murderer. Joe Cartwright had killed her father.

“You did just fine, little sister.” He took her wrap and umbrella and then guided her to a chair in the parlor to question her. “So tell me, did you use the chloral I’d left for you?”

“Yes, Jackson. How else do you think I—”

“Not too much, I hope.” Jackson wanted his victim alive.

“Jackson, please. Don’t act as if I’m still a child. I mixed the amount you told me in with the scotch. He never knew what hit him.”

Jackson tilted his head back and started to laugh. “And you’re telling me that you, little thing that you are, dragged Joe Cartwright all the way to the cellar door and shoved him down those steps all by yourself?”

Facing her brother, Abby adjusted her shoulders, lifting herself to her full height. “That’s exactly what I did. No one kills my father and gets away with it, dear brother. What I don’t understand is what you intend to do with him now?”

Jackson picked up the crystal decanter Abby kept in the parlor. “Drink?”

“Yes, please.”

Unknown to Abby, Jackson had started in on his own bottle of scotch earlier that morning, something which had become commonplace since he’d received the letter stating his father had been alive all this time. Although his motives for killing the younger Cartwright varied from his sister’s, she’d been easily persuaded to help with Joe Cartwright’s departure from this world to the next.

He poured the amber liquor into two small glasses and handed one to his younger sister. After taking a seat in the high-backed chair, he started to explain. “For now, he’s hogtied and lying on the cellar floor. I guess farm life taught us something after all, didn’t it, dear sister?”

“Really, Jackson, you know how much I hated that place.”

“Yes, I do, but not nearly as much as I did.”

“Why would you say that?” she remarked. “It was a horrible place for all of us, including Mother and Father.”

“You’re right,” he said, not wanting Abby to think anything different.

“Mother and Father had to work hard to keep that place going,” she said, “and don’t think I’ve forgotten how Father treated you, but you can’t blame him, Jackson. I know you always did but it wasn’t his fault. Mother tried to tell you that, remember?”

Jackson gulped his drink before he stood from the chair and poured himself a second, then a third. The pent-up anger over events that happened years—no decades ago—consumed him. He couldn’t let on to Abby. He had to keep himself in check. Even as his hand trembled, he brought the glass to his lips, tossing his head back and waiting for the liquid fire to burn away the images of his father—a father who towered over him—beat him repeatedly and then demanded more.

To steady himself, he clutched the edge of the three-legged table with his good hand, nearly upending the crystal container. Taking a deep breath before turning back to Abby, only one thought came to mind. Joe Cartwright was the only man who knew the truth—the only man who could ruin him by exposing the truth—by revealing what he must already know.

His father’s escape from prison was just icing on the cake—an excuse—an excuse that made young Cartwright realize he could get away with murder—a murder he’d contemplated for years. Jackson knew Cartwright was justified. He’d wanted to do the same every time his father returned home, first from the fields—fields that produced little to none—to the final years on the farm when his love for the bottle had ruined everything. But most of all, the constant drinking brought on a new wave of violence; something a young boy trying his best to please didn’t understand.

Jackson envied Joe Cartwright the pleasure he must have felt the moment he pulled the trigger, ending the life of such a sick bastard, a man who craved the feeling of power and superiority over others incapable of defending themselves. But there was more—more which had not been revealed. There’d been no reason for his brutality to end because he was forced to live behind bars. He was sure Joe Cartwright had lived through the worst a man could endure, which could only bring sweet revenge and complete satisfaction when he fingered that trigger and felt the ultimate surge of power himself.

Killing his own father had crossed Jackson’s mind more than once since that bleak night—that dark, rainy night when his father had dragged him out of the house by his shirt collar after finding him in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and singing songs with his mother. Across the rain-soaked yard and into the barn, he lifted the boy up off his feet, literally throwing him against the wall of an empty stall.

“That’s women’s work, sissy boy. Why don’t you ever learn?”

Harold stared down at his son, cowering on the barn floor like the baby he was. He picked up a broken axe handle and began striking the boy’s trembling shoulder. The boy covered his head as tears coursed down his reddened cheeks.

“I have no patience for your foolishness. You’ll do a man’s work, not sissy work with your mother.” Jackson lay unmoving on the dirt floor, his shoulder burning with pain. His father stood over him, still holding the wooden handle. “Drop your pants, boy.” He tried to distance himself from his father and his unjust fury, but there was no place else to go. “I said drop ‘em.”

Jackson turned his head and looked up at his father. The giant of a man towered over him, and what he saw that night was something different, something unusually fierce in the way his father’s eyes blazed with anger. Harold unfastened his own trousers, as Jackson looked on, confused by what he saw. His father’s member was swollen, and Jackson’s eyes widened at the unnatural sight. He became more afraid as his father demanded again for him to drop his pants. “You ain’t no man,” he roared, “you’re a sissy-boy and this is what happens to sissy-boys. Ya hear me, boy?”

Jackson ducked back against the wall, closing his eyes. Harold jerked him up off the ground and yanked his arm behind his back. He came down hard with the axe handle across the boy’s hand, and when Jackson cried out in pain, he struck his only son relentlessly, again and again. “Sissy-boy,” Harold screamed. “Bend over, sissy-boy.”

“Papa no,” he cried. “Please, Papa,”

His hand, already starting to swell and throb, was useless to him, but he had seen his father’s eyes and heard his father’s demanding voice. What could he do? How could he escape the madness that consumed his father?

Ripping at his son’s suspenders and lowering the boy’s pants, Harold bent the youth over, entering him fiercely and aggressively. The boy screamed between relentless sobs, begging his father to release him from the pain, the utter torture he was forced to endure while hearing his father’s voice cry out for salvation.

A woman’s voice— “Harold? Jackson? Supper’s on the—”

Harold dropped the child to the ground, buttoned his trousers, and turned to his wife, Alva, who stood in the doorway, covering her face with her hands. He saw that she shivered, not from the cold, but from what she thought she’d witnessed. When Harold started toward her, she turned and ran toward the house, slamming the wooden front door and grabbing Abby, shoving the young girl behind her skirts.

When the front door flew open and crashed against the bureau, Harold stood, blocking most of the light from the entrance; his breathing, loud and uneven, his eyes penetrating like the demon he’d become. He stared at his wife—saw the fear in her pale blue eyes, and dropped his gaze. “Go tend the boy,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice.

Tremors ran up Alva’s spine, afraid not only for herself but for her children. As soon as Harold stepped aside, leaving room for her to pass through the doorway, she pulled Abby by the hand, and she and the child ran through the driving rain to the barn.

Harold Collier had taken the abuse a step further that night, using his strength and power over his boy, a child unable to defend himself. And now, Jackson found himself in that same position—anger and force—strength and manipulation to overpower. To watch a helpless young man beg for his life as he’d been forced to do as a child, during that dark, rainy night in the barn, had become his own release, his own satisfaction. Even with his disfigurement, he was still a man of power and strength over the weak and helpless.

He wanted Cartwright to beg for his life just as he’d done all those years ago with his own father towering over him—to feel the fear—to see terror in the man’s eyes just before death. Vivid memories of his father—the violent beast who’d stood over him—shouting—calling him names—beating him all but senseless, and finally, the ultimate humiliation—all the while praying for the Lord’s salvation.

The years that followed consisted of shame and a tarnished image of his own self-worth but now came retribution for all he had suffered at the hands of a madman. There had been seven now—seven fragile, young boys, who had lost their own shameful, undignified lives at his hand. Seven boys-whores, who prostituted themselves with men as vile and abusive as his father had been to him.

Joe Cartwright was not a frail or fragile man by any means; not tall like his brother, Adam, but a man with powerful shoulders and arms of steel. The battle would be a simple one—a verbal battle—a battle of words. But he would enjoy seeing the fear in Cartwright’s eyes—the quake of his voice as he begged his captor for freedom. That final look on his face only seconds before the blade slit his throat, silencing the truth forever.

Jackson knew he must maintain the upper hand by keeping his charge subdued, whether with drugs or restrained with bindings as he was now. He couldn’t let Cartwright best him for fear that the sordid tale of his past would be revealed, not only to his wife and son but to anyone and everyone, including his long-time friend and partner.

The chloral hydrate that Abby had mixed with the glass of scotch she’d given Joe earlier should have worn off by now, and Jackson was anxious to meet with his prize, wanting and needing to determine the man’s knowledge of past events. How many people had Joe Cartwright enlightened already, exposing the tale of his youth? He was positive Joe knew the truth; he was sure on all counts.

“I’m looking for the reporter who’s covering the murders of the young men—the, um, the boys who—”

“Right this way, sir,” said the younger man, whom Adam found himself embarrassed to speak the words outright. He knocked briefly on the frosted-glass door and then popped his head in. “Mr. Jacobs? There’s a gentleman here to see you.”

“Thanks, Eric, send him in.” Finally, Jacobs thought as he stood up from his chair. Joe Cartwright has come to his senses and is ready to reveal the— “Oh, I was expecting someone else,” he said, extending his hand across his desk. “Will you have a seat Mr.—“

“Cartwright, Adam Cartwright.”

The two men stood eye to eye with each other, Jacobs mildly surprised at this second unexpected visitor. “Adam Cartwright?”

“Yes. I’m guessing you’ve already met my younger brother, Joe,” he said, reaching up and casually removing his hat.

“Sit down, Mr. Cartwright, or may I call you Adam so there’s less confusion?” Adam nodded. “Yes, I met your brother earlier today, and if you want to know the truth, he’s the one I was expecting to walk through that door.”

“And why is that?”

“Would you care for a drink? I can usually hold out till about six in the evening, but this has been quite a day.” He pulled out a bottle from the bottom drawer of his desk and the two glasses he had on hand. “Here you go. Best scotch whiskey in San Francisco—maybe in all of California.”

Adam accepted the drink but couldn’t wait any longer for answers. Joe was missing and Jacobs was stalling. “So tell me why you expected my brother to come back here this evening, Mr. Jacobs? What does he have to do with you and your piece in the Chronicle?”

Jacobs didn’t miss the determined look in the dark-set eyes staring back, but he was hesitant to give any direct answers just yet. “You don’t waste words, do you, Adam?”

“Not where my brother’s concerned. No, I don’t.”

“Well, it’s a bit of a private matter you see, and I can’t give away my sources to just any—”

“I’m not just anyone, Jacobs,” Adam said coldly, “and right now my brother is missing. Now, I need answers, and I assure you I’ll feel much better as soon as you start talking.”

Jacobs cleared his throat and refilled his glass, offering the bottle to Adam, who declined. He concluded that Adam Cartwright was a much different man—much more direct than his younger brother. There was no way he’d be able to dismiss this man with a roundabout flourish of writer’s words.

“Okay, Adam Cartwright, I’ll be blunt. I believe your brother knows something he’s either afraid to disclose or for some reason feels he needs to keep secret.”

“That tells me nothing, Mr. Jacobs,” Adam said, never taking his eyes off the man sitting across from him.

“I’m convinced he knows who killed the seven boys found murdered down near the wharf. I begged him to tell me or to go to the police before the next young man has the same fate as—”

Adam held his hand up, stopping the reporter from rattling on any further. “Let me explain something to you, Jacobs,” Adam said, genuinely disturbed by the total nonsense the reporter had suggested. “My brother has been in San Francisco for just over a week’s time. How can you possibly think he knows who this murderer is?”

“I assure you, Adam. He knows.”

I was cold and my mouth was dry. I felt like I’d swallowed a pound of dust, but how was that possible when I could feel the cold, damp ground seeping through my clothes? As soon as I tried to sit up or move at all, I realized I was tied, hogtied in fact, and unable to do anything but lie and wait for—whom? And why?

I tried to recreate my day, but my mind was fuzzy as words and faces flashed through my mind. I remember talking to Pa about trains or—or maybe it was Adam, and whether or not he was odd or was it called something else? Abby! That’s it! I came to see Abby—but was that today or had it been yesterday? I told her I’d come by, but something—I did something else instead.

And now I lay in darkness, withering like a snake and accomplishing even less. But when I listened closely, I could hear footfalls above me—someone pacing—moving around quickly. There was muffled talking though I couldn’t make out the words. Maybe they’d find me and untie me, but I couldn’t yell out; I couldn’t alert them I was here.

“You haven’t told me what you plan to do with him, Jackson. You can’t just leave him in the cellar forever, and if you take him away from here someone’s bound to see you.”

Jackson paced the room. Abby had done as he’d requested by enticing Joe Cartwright, captivating him with her womanly charms but no, he didn’t have the details worked out yet.

His only mission in life, after a little prodding, enough to trigger fear in his victim, was to silence Joe Cartwright. He had his own motive, far removed from Abby’s, one that had altered his thinking, his sense of reason.

After he killed Cartwright, they would still have to get rid of the body and that might present a problem, whereas so far, he’d gotten away, scot-free, from all the other murders. There was no need to spoil things now, but Abby was right. They lived in the city, not out by the wharf, which was hidden in darkness, away from city lights and meddlesome neighbors, who would be the first to notice if he made the slightest mistake.

“I’m not completely sure, little sister. It would have been smarter to lure him out of the city somewhere, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, it’s too late for that now,” she said, standing and walking toward her brother. “Joe has to be killed and gotten rid of quickly. I’m in this as much as you are now, and neither of us can lose our nerve or—oh, Jackson,” she cried. “I don’t dare think of the consequences if something were to go wrong.”

“Don’t you worry yourself over this, baby sister,” he said, draping his arm across Abby’s shoulders. “I give you my word; nothing can possibly go wrong.”

“But my brother hasn’t been back to tell you who this killer is, correct?” Adam continued and then added a few snide remarks. “Providing you’re right of course; after a week in the city, my brother has become a detective, or let’s see, has he become a reporter? I’m not exactly sure which.”

“I know this sounds awkward coming from me, a total stranger, someone who only met your brother this morning, but even though we talked for just a short time, I was confident he knew who the killer was.” Jacobs leaned forward, rested his elbows on his desk, and stared into Adam’s eyes. “I don’t consider myself a mind reader, but let’s face it, your brother is not that hard to read. My guess is that Joe can’t keep a secret for more than five minutes, am I right?” Adam didn’t respond. “His body language,” Jacobs, said, “his facial expressions are reactions he can’t hide. You know I’m right, don’t you?”

Adam let out a lengthy sigh, knowing he’d just been had. “Yes, you’re absolutely right. So what do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Jacobs said. “What makes you think Joe’s missing?”

Adam stood from his chair, carrying his drink with him. He had to think. “I’m not sure whether he’s missing or not,” he said. “There’s a girl he’s been seeing—”

Adam turned to see Jacobs smile, but quickly, the reporter tried to conceal his amusement by covering his mouth with his fist. “Just over a week, you say.”

Adam let out another long sigh. “My young brother has a way of attracting the ladies.”

“Go on.”

“So he and this young lady were supposed to picnic today, but he never showed up at her place after he’d told her he would. Obviously, she was concerned, and she came by my house, wanting to know if something had happened to him that kept him from making their date.”

“So Joe’s become friendly with this girl. How did he meet her may I ask or—”

“No, it’s fine,” Adam said, returning to his chair. “She used to work for me. My partner and I lost our business in a fire just a few weeks ago.”

Jacobs clicked his fingers and pointed to Adam. “I knew that name sounded familiar. Cartwright and Collier. Is that you?”

“Close—Collier and Cartwright, but yes, my partner was Jackson Collier.”

“So, who is the young lady?” Jacob asked.

“Abigail Collier, Jackson’s younger sister.”

“Very convenient.”

“Isn’t it?” Adam replied.

Dim light seeped into my darkened cave—flickering—a candle maybe, and then slow booted footsteps descended the stairs. With my back toward the light, I was unable to see much of anything except the long outlined shadow of just one man against the stone walls.

“I see you’re back with us, Joseph,” he said. I couldn’t answer with the gag shoved halfway down my throat, but I’m sure he was well aware. “I pray you’re not terribly uncomfortable, but there’s not much I can do about that is there?” I heard the toe of his boot, scuffing, digging at the dirt floor. “You see, you are my captive, and as much as I’d love to sit down and trade stories with you, I don’t want to touch that filthy gag, so you rest easy, Joseph, and we’ll talk again tomorrow. Goodnight for now.”

I tried to kick out, tried to trip him up, but I couldn’t move more than an inch. It was wasted energy, energy I didn’t have, given this damn gag, and barely able to suck in enough air as it was. It was obvious I had hours to wait before he returned, and what kind of stories could he possibly want to share?

I don’t know anyone in this damn city except Adam and Abby, and even though I’ve only briefly met O’Hara and Jacobs, I don’t think they’d give up respected careers by kidnapping me and leaving me here to rot.

Damn—he made sure to stay out of sight, never allowing me to glimpse any portion of his face. It had to be nighttime if he wasn’t coming back until tomorrow. Could it possibly be Jackson? Had he found me somehow and dumped me here? If I could only remember what happened or how I got here. Nothing made sense. Wouldn’t I know if it was him?

But it had to be. I’d let down my guard—not watching my back—forgotten the very reason I’d come to San Francisco—Adam—the fire. I’d gotten off track, consumed by the murders and now, together with seven dead boys, would I pay the ultimate price too?

Jake Jacobs checked his watch before looking back up at Adam Cartwright. “Half past six.  Maybe we should pay the lady a visit.”

“Abigail? Why?” Adam questioned.

“You’ve already stated that besides you, she is really the only person your brother knows in the city. So, if what you say is true and Joe is actually missing, there’s a chance it could be a random act of violence. But, if that’s not the case, then I suspect Miss Collier knows something about his disappearance and she is putting on some kind of an act in order to draw you away, send you looking in a whole different direction. Now, I would also assume that she’ll need a great deal of persuading in order to tell us exactly what we need to know.”

“So you’re telling me,” Adam said, thinking over what Jacobs had said, “that you believe Abigail Collier has something to do with Joe’s disappearance?”

“Think, Adam?”

Adam was trying his best, although not yet convinced that this so-called intelligent reporter, who was sitting across from him spouting out wild accusations, was making any sense whatsoever. Abigail? Kidnapping? Could she possibly be in on—”

“Did my brother tell you about the fire at Collier and Cartwright?”

“No. I’d read about it in the Chronicle, but I wasn’t the reporter. Tell me.”

Adam tightened his lips. Maybe this man, Jacobs, was on to something after all. Maybe it all tied in together. “There is a possibility, according to Joe, and this detective O’Hara down at the precinct, that my partner, Jackson, set the fire. He made sure I was injured but not dead, only to lure Joe out here to—”

“To kill him?” But why?” What did Collier have against Joe?”

“Joe killed Jackson Collier’s father.” Adam saw the look on Jacobs’ face and figured he’d better explain, at least, part of the story. “Long story short; Jackson’s father escaped from the Nevada State Prison, and Joe caught up to him, there was a struggle and the gun went off.” It didn’t seem necessary to give details of Joe’s past and Adam hoped Jacobs would be satisfied with the shortened version.

“Okay,” Jacobs said, as he leaned back in his chair, interlocking his fingers behind his head as he studied what Adam had said. “It’s all falling together, isn’t it? Retribution is the keyword here, Adam. Joe must pay for their father’s death.” He leaned forward. “We need to visit the lady—now!”

“Shouldn’t we involve the police, at least O’Hara?”

Adam was hesitant to burst in and question Abby even if all the evidence he and Jacobs put together pointed to her and Jackson. What if he and Jacobs had forced this—this circumstantial evidence to suit their current way of thinking? What if none of their assumptions were true?

“Not yet, Adam—we’re only speculating at this point. Let’s go. We only want to talk to the lady.”

“You worry too much, little sister. I suspect you ought to wash those glasses and make this place look presentable. You never know who may come to call.”

“Are you expecting company?” Abby said, questioning why her brother would think such a thing.

“One can never be too careful, dear sister. If for no other reason, my former business partner is a keen and perceptive man and his younger brother is missing. Where do you think he’ll look first?”

“Jackson, don’t make me do this. I can’t face Adam again.”

“You told me you were an actress, remember? This is the second act of the play.” He slipped his fingers under Abby’s chin, gently tilting her head up until they met eye-to-eye. “Keep strong, little sister, keep your chin up, and if need be, let the tears flow, making it perfectly clear how much you care for poor, poor Joe Cartwright. Do whatever it takes to get rid of Adam, should he, or anyone else, show up at the door.”

“But—”

“No, little sister. This isn’t the time to be timid or difficult. It will be the single most important performance of your life.”

Brother and sister froze after hearing a knock at the door. Abby grabbed Jackson’s shirtsleeves, and just as quickly, he brushed her off. Bringing his finger to his lips, he pointed to the staircase. “I’m going up,” he whispered. “You collect yourself and answer the door. Don’t ruin this for us, Abby.” Jackson raced up the stairs but stood in the shadows. He could hear every word from his perch behind the plastered wall.

“Coming,” she called out after straightening her hair and wiping her sweaty palms against her navy blue skirt. “Who is it?”

Jacobs nudged Adam. “It’s Adam, Abi—Abby.”

Abby peeked out the front door. “Adam,” she said, opening the door a bit more. “Did you find Joe?”

“Not yet. May we come in?”

“We?”

“Yes, I’ve brought a friend with me.”

“Come in, gentlemen.” She stood back, waiting calmly, or as calmly as possible under the circumstances, for introductions to be made.

“Abby, this is Jake Jacobs, a reporter at the Chronicle. Jake, Miss Abigail Collier.”

“How do you do, Mr. Jacobs?”

“Miss.”

“I’ve seen your byline. Won’t you come in? Have a seat?”

Jacobs, always the observer, noticed the two empty glasses on the small mahogany table. He assumed Adam did too—it was obvious there were two people in the house, or at least there had been very recently. “Are we interrupting anything, Miss Collier?” Jacobs asked.

“Oh no, sir. I was just straightening up. “May I offer you coffee—a drink?”

“Coffee sounds nice, Abby,” Adam said. “Only if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all, gentlemen.” She snatched up the two empty glasses, trying to conceal them within the pleats of her skirt. She’d have to think of something to say should they ask, but that’s not why they were there. They were obviously still looking for Joe and had only come by to see if he’d been here at all.

That’s it, she thought. I could simply say that Joe had been here, although briefly, and then he was off again, saying he needed to get back to Adam’s. But no, she’d already asked Adam if he’d found Joe yet. A friend, a friend of hers, stopped by for a drink. Unladylike, maybe, but that’s the story she’d have to give.

Abby scurried off to the kitchen. Jacobs scanned the small parlor. The only things that seemed out of place or left cause for alarm were the two empty glasses. “Someone has been here. Maybe her brother,” he whispered. “The glasses.”

Adam nodded, but there was no proof that Jackson had been at Abby’s flat, and Adam was a practical man. Theories only went so far. He wanted hard evidence and Jacobs was only pointing out what seemed obvious to him. Adam would wait for the facts.

“It will take a few minutes,” Abby said, walking back into the parlor. She took a seat opposite the two men. “So Adam, I guess you’re here because Joe hasn’t made it back to your place yet, right?”

“I’m afraid you’re right, Abby, and yes, that would be the reason we’re here.”

“What can I do to help?” Jacobs noticed Abby’s hands, wringing a small handkerchief on her lap as she spoke.

“Do you know if Joe knows anyone else in the city or anywhere he might want to go, say a museum or any other institution?” Yeah, right—more like a saloon or a gaming hall, Adam thought. Jacobs had let this whole interrogation process fall on him and he wasn’t prepared. He didn’t know what questions to ask. “I don’t know, Abby, I’m at a loss here.”

“You and me both, Adam.” She turned her attention to Jacobs. “Joe’s never mentioned knowing you, Mr. Jacobs.”

“Oh, well, that’s because Joe and I have never met, Miss Collier. Adam and I have known each other for quite some time, and we ran into each other on the street late this afternoon while he was out looking for his brother. I wasn’t busy, so I tagged along in case I could help.”

“I see,” she said. “Oh, the coffee—I’ll be right back.”

The two men watched as she slipped back into the kitchen. “She seems a bit nervous, Adam.”

“Yes, I noticed.” Both men kept their voices hushed, contemplating what their next questions might be.

“I think you’re in the wrong line of business, Mr. Cartwright. Maybe you should have been a reporter,” Jacobs teased.

Adam rolled his eyes at the suggestion. “No thanks.”

Abby stood in the doorway with a large, silver tray and Adam jumped up quickly to carry it across the room for her. He couldn’t help but notice a pair of men’s leather gloves sitting next to the pump at the sink. “Let me help you,” he said, without letting on about his sharp observation. He would mention the oversight to Jacobs as soon as they were outside the flat.

Evidence was piling up. Jackson, or someone else perhaps—obviously a man—had been here very recently and it hadn’t been Joe. So, was this the plan all along? Joe had tried to tell him what he and O’Hara had surmised, but Abby—was she in on this too? Her part in this surprised him, although the more he thought about it, the whole scenario was starting to make perfect sense. Had she deceived Joe? Had she seduced him only to lead him into a trap? A ruse she and Jackson had worked out together; a way to ambush Joe without him sensing anything was amiss or out of the ordinary?

Adam set the tray down and poured them each a cup of coffee before he sat back down next to Jacobs. “This is very good, Miss Collier,” Jake said, lifting his cup to her.

“Thank you, Mr. Jacobs,” she said, adding cream and sugar to hers, while both men were satisfied drinking theirs black.

“So what comes next, Adam? Should we go to the police and tell them Joe’s missing?”

“I don’t think the police department is going to waste their time tracking down someone who’s only been missing a few hours,” Jacobs cut in. “He’d have to be gone for days before they’d search for him. Besides, they’d probably think he left San Francisco and headed back to Nevada.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Unless, of course, a body turned up, then they’d have reason to investigate.”

“A body?” Abby said. “Oh, please don’t even say such a thing, Mr. Jacobs.”

“I apologize, Miss Collier. Guess I’ve been a reporter too long.”

“Well, Abby, we should be on our way,” Adam said, setting his cup and saucer on the tray. “Joe might be home by now.”

“I do hope so. I don’t like to think of,” she quickly dabbed her handkerchief at the corner of her eye, “well, unpleasant things. You will keep me informed, won’t you, Adam?”

“Of course I will. Thanks again for the coffee.”

Adam was anxious to get outside and tell Jacobs of his kitchen discovery. He was becoming more certain now and he was eager to talk to his new, but devoted acquaintance. It had become even more apparent that he and Joe had been made fools of by the brother and sister team, but fools or not, he felt Joe was in serious danger.

Adam waited until they were a block down the cobblestone street before he told Jacobs what he’d discovered in the kitchen. “Men’s gloves? Are you sure?” Jacobs said.

“Positive. Now we know someone else has been inside the house.”

“I’m curious,” Jacobs said as they continued to walk. “Your friend Jackson—would he have any distinguishing marks—a deformity maybe?”

“Why?” Adam thought it was a very peculiar question for the reporter to be asking. “What are you getting at?”

“You didn’t answer my question, Adam.”

“Yes, he does, but I don’t—”

“What, Adam? A deformity?”

“It’s his hand—his left arm and hand. Why—how did you know?”

“And Joe knew about this?” Jacobs said, truly afraid for the younger Cartwright.

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand where you’re going with this, Jacobs. Do you want to enlighten me or is this some kind of game all reporters play?”

“I assure you, Adam, this is no game. It’s time to get O’Hara in on this. Let’s go—I’ll explain on the way.”

I’d tugged at my bindings until my wrists were sore and bleeding. I could barely swallow, but I knew he’d be back and I’d better be prepared to defend myself. I imagined his plan was to kill me but why wait? Why leave me here hogtied in a dingy cellar?

I got myself rolled over so I lay on my other side, hoping the exhausting pain in my shoulder and hip would subside. My clothes were damp and the room smelled musty and stale, and I heard noises; footsteps above me along with muffled voices. But there were more irritating noises, which I could only assume were rats or other small varmints that had up residence in this friggin’ hellhole alongside me.

I couldn’t see across the room or even five inches in front of my face. It was pitch black and it would stay that way until he came back with his candle so we could have a sit-down chat. Now that I’d rolled over, I was facing the stairwell so at least I could make out his face and know exactly who I was dealing with.

As if on cue, the door opened above me and the shadow of a man appeared on the staircase wall long before I could see his face. If I’d gotten my hands loose, but that wasn’t the case. My only choice was to wait, but my eyes were wide open, searching the top of the stairs, desperately anxious to see his face—the face of a killer.

As the light started down the stairs, the man wore a bulky overcoat and heavy leather gloves. I still had trouble making out his features even though he held a candle in front of him, which he set down on the bottom step and moved behind me. I’d missed my chance.

“Hello, Joseph,” he said.

He reached down, this time with gloved hands, and pulled the gag from my mouth. I sucked in deep, satisfying gulps of air, quickly filling my starving lungs. But this time around, I tried to listen closely, and I knew immediately—like father like son—that slow, rhythmic manner, it could be no one other than Jackson Collier.

“Jackson,” I said, but only above a whisper.

“We finally meet, Joseph, although the circumstances probably aren’t to your liking, you have to admit I had no other choice.”

“Everyone has choices, Jackson; you chose this one.”

“I’d think with the predicament you’re in, you’d be more pleasant and understanding.”

“Pleasant about what?” I wasn’t here to play games, but he was. “And just what should I understand?”

Without hesitation, Jackson cracked a whip high above my head. I flinched. I never saw it coming and every muscle in my body tensed, remembering the God-awful sound from years ago. I tried to turn my head, but I’d grown too stiff—too cold. I wanted a glimpse of the man, who’d apparently lost all sense of reason—who’d lost control of his life and turned to violence as a means of release.

Would I be the next casualty, the next man to die among countless others he’d left dead throughout the city? Knowing better, knowing I should keep my mouth shut and pray for someone to suddenly burst into the room and rescue me from an upstanding citizen in the community turned murderer overnight, I failed. Without thinking things through—oblivious to any consequences, a bantering of mocking questions, like firecrackers on the Fourth of July, came spouting out—questions I should have kept to myself.

“Did you tie the boys up too before you killed them, Jackson? Did they have a chance to fight back or did you make them snivel and beg—beg for their lives before you lifted their heads and slit their throats?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” His voice was agitated, as was my own, but it was time for the truth and I could only pray I lived to tell the tale. It may have been the wrong path to take, restrained like I was, but I continued.

“The prostitutes, Jackson. The boy-whores you killed. Is this the method you used?”

“You’re quite mistaken, Joseph,” he said, his voice now calm and singsong, but nevertheless, chilling. “I’ve never killed anyone in my life, but you have, haven’t you? How many men have you killed?”

“He raped you didn’t he, Jackson?” I said, much louder than before. “Your father raped you and you hated him for it. Were you afraid of becoming just like one of those boys? Was that it? Or were you already one of them? Did you use them just like your father used you?”

“Shut up—shut your damn mouth!” he shouted. “You don’t know anything.” The whip cracked again, showering my legs and my back with bits of dirt and rock. “Only a deviant like you would even think such a thing.”

“Is that right, Jackson? Is that why I’m here? You need to rid the world of deviants? Why are you punishing me when you should rejoice in the fact that your father can never hurt you again?”

“The Lord is my Shepherd,” he mumbled, although I heard panic, a sense of fear rising in his voice, “I shall not want; He makes me—”

“You’re not your father,” I yelled over my shoulder, remembering Harold’s full routine of grabbing me from behind and then drawing blood beneath my chin, using his prison-made shiv. I’d tossed my head back—my neck stretched to the limit, all the while listening to him ask the Lord for salvation. “Pray, Jackson, that’s it, pray for salvation, just like he did, but God doesn’t forgive men like you.”

The whip sliced across my shoulder, once, twice, three times in his manic rage. My body jerked convulsively each time the tip of the leather struck.

“He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still wa—”

Again, the whip cut through my torn and burning skin.

“He—he restores my soul …”

Every muscle tightened, waiting for the next searing jolt of pain, but he failed to strike me again. Jackson had dropped to his knees, and although I couldn’t see him at all now, I could feel his presence behind me. He was reduced to mumbling, maybe begging for forgiveness, I couldn’t tell. Moments later, I heard gentle sobs, the weeping of a man who’d suffered a lifetime of pain, pain from the father he trusted to love and care for him, but it wasn’t that way; it hadn’t been that way at all.

A frightened scream from above shocked Jackson back to reality—back to a world he’d left behind. He stood erect, the weeping, the praying was silenced. I could hear the footsteps of more than one person, racing across the floor above.

Jackson jammed the gag back in my mouth, then curled the whip around his crippled hand as he moved toward the stairwell and extinguished the candle’s flame. With the cellar door closed above, total darkness prevailed. The sounds of numerous boot heels drummed across the floor above accompanied by loud, muffled voices, breaking the silence surrounding Jackson and me down below.

Silly as it may sound, I tried to scoot farther away from him, but where was there to go? My shoulder was on fire and my body ached from lying on the wet ground. I wasn’t going anywhere until someone untied me or Jackson decided to finish me off before anyone made their way down the stairs.

Adam was always good at figgerin’ so maybe it was him—maybe he figured things out. But no matter who it was, there was more than one person in the flat.

Jackson moved off to the side, hidden from sight, should someone venture down to the cellar. I couldn’t see a damn thing. I didn’t know if he was holding a gun on me or not. Surely, that was the ultimate plan—kill Joe Cartwright.

Slowly, the cellar door eased open and a burning lantern, the bright light momentarily forcing my eyes closed, but I had to know who was there and through narrow slits, I could see movement partway up the stairs. I made a guttural noise—the only thing I could do to alert whoever that I was there even though I couldn’t warn them of the danger hidden behind me.

“Joe! Are you all right?” Realizing why I couldn’t answer, Adam pulled the foul-tasting gag from my mouth.

“I’m fine now, Adam.” I nodded toward the wall by the side of the stairs. “Jackson,” I mumbled.

The tiny cellar was filled with men. Behind Adam were Jacobs and O’Hara and three more men dressed in uniform, who’d staggered down the stairwell. Jackson was crouched on his haunches, sobbing.

Adam pulled out his pocketknife, one I’d had engraved with his initials and given him before he’d left for college. “You might need this to keep away the bad men while you’re away from Papa and me and Hoss,” I’d said. My big brother, who towered over a small, six-year-old boy kneeled down, thanked me, and promised me he’d treasure it always. Adam never made promises he didn’t keep and right now, I was thankful he’d kept that one.

The snap of the rope freed my arms, and I stretched my legs while Adam eased my shoulders from the ground.

The men in uniform pulled Jackson up from his crouched position huddled against the cellar wall, but before they started up the stairs, the pitiful excuse for a man looked over his shoulder toward me with a genuine look of despair—the madness in him was gone, only sadness prevailed. “Tell your brother,” he said in a quiet, almost childlike manner, his glistening eyes directed straight at me. “Tell him, Joe Cartwright. Tell him what binds us together like kin.”

“Come on,” an officer said. “You’re finished here, Mr. Collier.”

I didn’t acknowledge his comment, although I knew what he’d meant. I tried to dismiss what he’d said, hoping everyone else who’d overheard his remark would do the same. As soon as Jackson was out of sight after the three officers escorted the broken man up the stairs, Adam pulled me to my feet. “Your arm looks pretty bad, Joe. Looks like you’ll need stitches.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just get me outta here.”

I could only hope Adam didn’t pick up on Jackson’s final remark. He would be tried and hanged for the murders of seven innocent boys and the whole dirty mess with his father—the secret he’d carried for decades would go to the grave with him.

O’Hara stood in front of me with his hands planted on his hips. “You tryin’ to play detective, Joe? Maybe you should think about joining the force.”

“No thanks, Max. I prefer peace and quiet—the simple life of a rancher back on the Ponderosa. I‘m afraid I’ve had enough of city life.”

Adam, still holding me steady, felt he had to comment. “Don’t let him fool you, detective. There’s nothing simple or quiet or peaceful about my younger brother.”

Had Adam had his fill of city life too? Would he be willing to come home with me? The prospect of living in the city didn’t bode well for me—living in flats—with no nearby hills and valleys to roam. No mountains or fishin’ holes with rainbows and browns just for the takin’. Was his place here with no family to stand behind him when a small pocketknife wasn’t enough to protect him from people who didn’t much care?

“Let’s get you out of here,” Adam said, breaking into my meandering thoughts. O’Hara and Jacobs followed behind us. Two officers stood in the parlor on either side of Abby, holding tightly to each of her arms. She stood silently, clad in her hat and rust-colored cape. I let my eyes drift away.

“Abby?” I whispered to Adam.

He nodded. “I’m sorry, Joe.”

I clenched my teeth as Adam helped me off with my jacket and shirt and told me to lie back before I passed out. “Damn, that hurts.”

“I’m sure it does but try to take it easy. The doctor will be here shortly.

I was relieved to be untied and out of that dank cellar, away from everyone, friend or foe. Adam had ridden with me to the hospital where we were escorted by one of the winged Sisters to an examining room to wait for a doctor.

I winked at Adam when the doctor walked in. The face I recognized belonged to Jonathan Mills, the same physician who’d worked on Adam a few weeks earlier.

“It’s nice to see you both,” he said, “although not under these circumstances.”

“I can assure you, Doc, it wasn’t anything I planned.”

“It’s not the first time my young brother’s been sewn back together, Doctor. Joe’s had more stitches, more broken bones, more of just about anything you can think of than anyone else I know.”

I made a face, but now that the sedative had taken full effect, I didn’t much care what was said; and besides, I couldn’t come up with a decent response to save my life. I barely heard the two of them talking, something about Adam’s condition I think, but I was a bit too relaxed and found it too hard to concentrate to listen or care much about their conversation.

My brother had kept the coach waiting outside the hospital and it wasn’t long before Dr. Mills had me all sown up, slipped my arm in a sling, and released me. Besides Adam treating me like an invalid, and me not caring one way or the other, the two of us returned to his flat. “I could sure use a drink,” I said after he’d settled me on the sofa.

“It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it?” Adam said as he poured us each a drink from the same label brandy my father preferred.

“It’s the kind of day I’d rather forget, big brother.”

The sedative was wearing off, and now that I could think straight again, I thought of Abby and how everything she contrived, including “I love you,” was just a con. There was never any love or even friendship—a spider, trapping me in her web—an overall plan to end my life as I’d ended her father’s. She played the part well, and I fell easily, just like a schoolboy—a boy who was eager to be loved. “She played me for a fool, Adam.”

My brother handed me the brandy before he sat down. He didn’t answer me right off. Maybe things were better left unsaid. I leaned back on the sofa. I was tired but my mind was working overtime.

“She was crying when we came upstairs, Joe. Maybe she’d had second thoughts even though it was too late to do anything about it.”

“No,” I said. “She was crying because she got caught.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“We’ll never know anything for sure, will we?” I swallowed my drink and reached for the decanter. “It doesn’t matter anyway. She managed to accomplish what she’d set out to do.”

Seems my elder brother was at a loss for words, mainly because there was nothing he could say that could make things easier to grasp or help the way I felt. In a way, I appreciated the silence. I didn’t want to hear ridiculous comments like there were other fish in the sea or when you get back home because I knew how things were back home and my brother did too.

If Pa were still here, he would have been hounding me to eat and get some sleep. Adam knew better and left me alone, at least for now. It was an easy silence.

I couldn’t help but remember what Jackson had said after his thunderous rage, and then his ultimate breakdown, the seething anger replaced by grief and despair. I wondered if he’d freed himself from the burden he’d carried since childhood.

Jacobs had told me that the killer never assaulted any of those boys; he’d slit their throats, a swift and sudden death. I could only think that somehow, in Jackson’s distorted mind, he thought he was doing them a favor by ending what he perceived as either degrading and shameful lives or maybe unholy in the eyes of God.

At any rate, I’m sure Jackson will either hang or be sentenced for murder and serve out the rest of his years in prison just as his father had. And Abby? I didn’t know what would become of her, but she’d have to pay some sort of debt to society for being an accessory, although since I was still alive, I’m not sure what category that fell under.

“Joe?” Adam said.

“Hmm?”

“You’re a million miles away.”

I smiled. “Just thinking.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No, not tonight. I’d just like to get some sleep if that’s okay.”

“If you’re sure,” Adam said. I could hear a hint of sadness in his voice. The whole thing with Jackson had been hard on him too, even if he hadn’t said a word about it. Losing a trusted friend because of this terrible nightmare Jackson carried with him had really gotten to him. “Think you can make it up the stairs?”

“Jackson went after my shoulder not my legs. You don’t have to play nursemaid with me, big brother.”

Adam smiled. “I’ve always been a bit overprotective, haven’t I?” He tilted his glass and finished off his brandy. “You have to understand, Joe, I made a promise a long time ago and there are certain promises that, no matter how old we get, last a lifetime.”

“I know, Adam, and I know who you promised even though I wasn’t old enough at the time to know anything about it. But it’s not just promises you made to Mama, it’s all four of us—it’s the way Pa raised us. We stand together; we protect each other.”

“You’re right, little brother, and I’ll miss that when you leave.”

“You can always come home with me,” I said, hoping he’d take me up on the offer.

“No, Joe. I’m going to stick it out here for now. See if I can make it on my own.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem, Adam, but you know you can call it quits and come home whenever you want, right?”

“I know,” he said, sporting a half-smile while setting his empty glass on the table. “Now, let’s get you up to bed. As you can imagine, Detective O’Hara has questions, although he told me he’d be more than happy to come by here in the morning if you don’t feel like getting out. Oh, and I told Jacobs we’d stop by his office tomorrow too if you felt up to it.”

“Okay. I’ll be fine in the morning.”

The painkiller the doctor had given me had worn off and I didn’t want to take any more. I figured maybe the brandy would kick in and offer me some relief, although so far that wasn’t the case. My shoulder was on fire, and as I’d done with Adam and his burns, he’d have to change my bandage and clean the wound for the next couple of days.

As exhausted as I was, and having to lie on my back with my arm in a sling, sleep didn’t come easily. Times spent with Abby were memories I couldn’t shake. I was beginning to fall in love with the woman. I wasn’t quite as quick to fall in love as I had been years ago—a bit more cautious in my old age, but I craved the affection and tenderness of a woman, a feeling I’d been denied for so long.

Adam and I sat down for a quick breakfast, and though we were both dragging our feet, we were off to see Max O’Hara. He had questions, as did I, but even as we sat and talked, I didn’t get many of mine answered. Jackson and Abby were in custody, and if I gave a full, written statement, I wouldn’t have to come back to San Francisco for the trial. I was thankful for that. Pa and Hoss and the simple life of a ranch hand were looking pretty darn good to me.

After a couple of hours spent with Max, including a young man named Harry, who hurriedly took notes of last night’s events, we said goodbye to the detective and wished him well. “Two for one,” I said. “Now you can clean up all those other back-burner crimes.”

Max smiled, shook his head, and clapped me on the back. “Nice knowing ya, Joe.”

Adam and I walked the short distance to the Chronicle where Charles, the older man, who always seemed to be marching up and down the hallways carrying a load of folders, took time to escort Adam and me to Jake Jacobs’ office.

“Hello, gentlemen,” Jacobs said, standing from his desk. “Thank you, Charles. That will be all.”

“Jacobs.” I gestured to my sling which prevented me from shaking hands.

“You know what, gentlemen? I think it’s high time we were all on a first-name basis. Please call me Jake, oh, and do have a seat,” he said pulling up a second chair for Adam.

My shoulder was stiff and sore, and though the doctor had put my arm in a sling, I still cradled it to my chest as I sat down. Adam sat down next to me, and with a sense of relief, we managed to finally relax along with the reporter, who in effect, had solved the case single-handedly.

“You amaze me, Joe,” Jake said, leaning back in his chair. “Were you planning on apprehending Collier alone or exactly what was your plan?”

“There’s nothing amazing about it, Jake. I had no intention—I mean, I only went to see my—to see Miss Collier.”

“Really? So you didn’t have a clue Collier would be there?”

I nodded my head and glanced at Adam before I said anything. “Miss Collier made a fool of me, Jake. I thought she—well, never mind.” I took a deep breath and told Jake all I remembered. “I think what happened, now that I look back, is that Abby must have drugged me somehow. I remember feeling really strange—kind of sick to my stomach and dizzy—as soon as I finished a glass of scotch, not long after I’d left you yesterday. Everything kind of went blank after that. When I woke up, I was in her cellar—only at the time, I had no idea where I was.”

“You’re one lucky man, Joe.”

“What you have to understand,” Adam cut in, “is that my brother has more than nine lives. He must be on at least his 15^th or 16^th by now.”

Jake started to chuckle then pulled out his pocket watch from a vest pocket. “Are you saying this is common practice?”

“Quiet,” Adam quickly responded.

“How about lunch? My treat,” Jake said.

I looked toward Adam. “I’m game. How about you, brother? Oh, and I know this great little place. It’s called Le Café.”

I enjoyed Jake’s company, and I was quite certain Adam did too. He was a good man, and I respected him even more after he told us he’d kept both of our names out of the paper when he’d written his story for the evening edition of the Chronicle.

By the time our apple pie was placed in front of us, Adam could tell I was growing tired but all during lunch, we enjoyed a spirited conversation. Rather than talk of murder and such, the three of us laughed and kidded each other, while Adam and I told silly stories that should have been laid to rest long ago. It was time to say goodbye to Jake.

Jake and I stood outside while Adam spent a few extra minutes with Kate, who I thought Adam should pursue with a little more vigor. When he finally came outside, Adam hailed us a cab. Jake, still chuckling over our silliness throughout lunch, said he’d walk back to the Chronicle.

As soon as we made it home, I slipped off my boots and sprawled out on the sofa, and I don’t think it was two minutes before I was sound asleep. When I woke, Adam had dinner started and he was sitting in the parlor with me in his overstuffed chair, reading the evening paper.

I slid my feet to the floor and sat up, rubbing my good hand over my face. “Guess I was tired,” I said. “Did you go somewhere while I slept?”

“Sure did. Remember, I’m not your nursemaid.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, stifling a yawn.

“I thought you might want to read Jake’s article and we needed food for supper.”

“Good thinkin’, brother, although I’m not very hungry.”

“It still needs to cook for a while. Here,” he said, handing me the paper. “Page 17.”

Seven young men died a useless death and they still weren’t front-page news. I read through the article and noticed Jake had stated, plain as day, that the citizens of San Francisco should be ashamed of themselves for not caring—for not pushing harder to have these boys’ murders solved and the murderer brought to justice before now.

“Because these young men were immigrants,” he went on to say, “because their parents weren’t fluent enough in the English language, and consequently, their fathers were unable to support their families for lack of decent jobs, this was the road these young men had taken and it was this same road, which in the end, caused their untimely deaths.”

Yet, the irony of these tragic events, at least the way I saw it, was that Jackson believed he was actually doing the boys a favor by enforcing his own brand of vengeance. The innocence of childhood had been taken away, and Jackson was seeking God’s favor or maybe freedom for himself from the tortured soul he’d become.

Jackson’s own father was not a poor, uneducated immigrant, but a knowledgeable, respectable member of society, who, at some point lost that status when he turned on his own son, beating and abusing the child, forever altering the boy’s life. In turn, his son grew to believe he was a savior of sorts—a liberator of young souls gone astray.

Adam had returned to the kitchen, and after I finished Jake’s article, I followed him in. “Jake did as promised and left our names out of his story didn’t he, Adam?”

“He did. An insightful story though, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I said. “He did a nice job.” I stood next to the sink, pumping a glass of water. After wearing that gag for so long, I couldn’t seem to get enough to drink. I carried my glass to the table and sat down, not even offering to help Adam with supper.

Adam wiped his hands on an old flour sack he used for an apron, filled a glass of water for himself, and sat down at the table with me. “Penny for your thoughts,” he said.

I smiled. “They aren’t pleasant thoughts, Adam. They aren’t things decent men talk about.”

“Tell me, Joe. I’m here to listen, maybe even help if I can.”

I tilted my face to the ceiling. My eyes filled with unshed tears, although as much as I tried, they spilled over and ran down my cheeks like a baby. How could I possibly tell my brother? What would he think if he knew? I hid this from everyone for so long; what good would it do to talk about it now?

“It was a long time ago, Adam, and I don’t think—”

I couldn’t say any more about it. I took a long, slow drink of water and set my glass back down on the table. It had left a wet ring that I drew out with my finger, and then quickly scribbled through the mess I’d made.

“It was Jackson’s father wasn’t it, Joe?”

My fingers closed into a fist. The time for drawing pictures in spilled water was over. I stood up from the table; the room had become too warm and too small for two people. How long had he known? I walked toward the front door and reached for the latch, but Adam’s voice called me back.

“You’re not to blame, Joe, and neither was Jackson. Harold Collier was a cruel and violent man. He’s the one to blame, not you.” I didn’t realize my brother stood right behind me until his hand touched my shoulder, and I flinched and quickly moved away.

Wrapping my good hand around the sling, I dropped my head, knowing my guilt-ridden past was now out in the open. Visions of the young man I’d once been, but was no more, flashed through my mind.

I couldn’t deny what had happened. I would always carry the feeling of shame and guilt. Guilt that I should have been stronger. Guilt that I should have let Harold Collier kill me, or maybe I should’ve killed myself rather than live with the inner torment the rest of my life.

“Joe, are you listening to me? You’re not to blame.”

I barely heard my brother’s words, but it didn’t matter now—nothing did. I’d tried every way I knew how to bury the past. For nearly ten years, I’d tried to forget the vile things that man did to me. Still to this day, the words “damaged goods” rang true—nothing ever changed, and I couldn’t imagine anything ever would.

With my back to my brother, tears streamed down my face. The floodgates had opened; the past became the present and nothing could be denied or forgotten. My world had been turned upside down the night I was thrown in the prison cell with Harold Collier—the unexpected control he had over me, slipping the tip of his knife to my throat—the force with which he came at me—breaking me—severing me forever from the young man known as Little Joe Cartwright.

I still couldn’t face my brother.

“You don’t understand, Adam,” I said between uncontrolled sobs. “He took everything from me. He made my life a living hell. For nearly two years, the man—”

Adam reached for my shoulder. “Joe—”

I sidestepped away. “I can’t even be with a woman,” I shouted angrily. “Do you understand what I’m saying? I ran away from Abby when things got too—I ran then I walked the streets all night. All along, you imagined something different, but you were wrong, Adam. I couldn’t bear the thought of being touched, being intimate—”

From behind, and without touching me this time, Adam handed me a handkerchief. “Here,” he said.

I nodded and took the pristine, white cloth my brother always carried with him.

“Why don’t we sit down? Come on,” he said, taking hold of my arm and leading me to the sofa where I plopped down, exhausted. Adam sat next to me. “Have you told Pa?”

I jerked my head in his direction. “No. And you won’t either, Adam.”

“All right.”

“I shouldn’t have told you either. I don’t know why I—”

“Listen to me, Joe.” Adam rested his arms on his knees and clasped his hands together. The last thing I needed right now was a lecture from Big Brother.

“It’s all been said, Adam. Let it go.” My brother wasn’t going to let it go. He rubbed his palms together, contemplating what he wanted to say. I knew the signs well.

“Talking about it, getting it out in the open—well, it may help you in the long run. Look what’s happened to Jackson. He married and had a son, but I’ll bet my life he never told Annabelle or Abby. I understand how hard it must be for you to talk about this, but Pa—”

“I said no, Adam! Not Pa, not Hoss, no one else.”

As if I’d upset the nature of things, a brilliant flash of lightning lit up the darkened room, and the deafening clap of thunder that followed unnerved me even more. I jerked slightly and looked toward the window. I never wanted this part of my past to come out in the open, and Adam wants to sit here and talk like it’s an everyday occurrence.

“Think of it this way, Joe.” I let out an exaggerated sigh and kept my eyes glued to the window and the oncoming storm. “Jackson will spend the rest of his life in prison. As much as he tried to live a regular life, it finally caught up with him. Don’t you see? He couldn’t continue to live a normal life once he realized that you might know the truth. That’s what frightened him more than anything else—just like it frightens you.”

“You’re right,” I said, before pushing myself up from the sofa, no longer caring to hear anything else he might have to say. “You’re absolutely right. I don’t want the world to know and it’s my choice, Adam. Not yours, so drop it. End of discussion.”

“Have you ever let yourself get angry? I mean angry?” Adam stood and moved in front of me, his eyes penetrating, his cool, dry-sounding voice, raising the hairs on my neck. I stepped away from him.

My God, what would it take to silence him? “I’m warning you, Adam. Let it go.”

“Aren’t you angry at what that man did to you? You weren’t much more than a boy!”

“I swear, Adam, if you don’t—” The sudden crash of thunder halted my final words.

“What, Joe!” Adam’s voice became louder, almost demonic as he moved closer. “You want to hurt me like Jackson hurt you?”

“What?” I shouted back. I was breathing hard; my patience grew thin. Much more of this, and yes, one of us would get hurt, and it wasn’t going to be me.

“Tell me what he did to you, Joe.” Adam’s dark, nearly black eyes were sharp, but his voice had returned to a calm, almost eerie hum. “Did he tie you down?” He took a step closer. “Did he threaten you with a knife, a rod of some sort?” Another step closer. “What, Joe? What did Harold Collier do to you in that cell?”

Trying to fight the dark, ominous feeling rising within me, I clinched my good hand into a fist so tight that my nails dug into my palms. A loud, yet guttural cry of “NO!” rivaled the roar of thunder in the otherwise silent room.

Two steps and I’d be out the door—away from the madness—away from the calm but menacing voice. Instead, I covered my ears with both hands. I couldn’t listen to another word, but when he grabbed hold of my arms—when I felt the burn of the whip once again, I hammered both hands down against his arms. I was a man, not a boy; this wasn’t happening again.

I went for his throat—choking—both thumbs pressed firmly against the hollow of his neck. His hands clamped around my wrists, pulling, tugging, pleading for release, but I was stronger now. I would fight to the death.

My fingers tightened. I’d gained the upper hand, and his face turned red. His hands loosened around my wrists. The sudden rush of blood gave me power, adrenaline gave me the strength needed to crush—

“Adam? Oh, God no! Adam!”

My mind quickly registered, and I knew what I’d done. I grabbed hold of my brother as his lifeless body collapsed limply in my arms. The two of us dropped to the floor as I gently cradled his head in my hands. His eyes were closed. I tapped repeatedly against his cheek before laying my head down against his broad chest, listening, praying.

“Oh, God? What had I done?”

I made a fist. I started pounding on my brother’s chest, praying for a miracle. I prayed like I’d never prayed before, not even when Harold …

A slight movement; a fluttering of eyelids.

I started to smile even though I knew it was too soon to rejoice that Adam was still alive. In a frantic fit of rage, I’d nearly killed my own brother. Something I’d never experienced before had come over me. Strength and power, driven by a force inside me I couldn’t control.

Again, fluttering, his eyes slowly opened. With my hand still resting on his chest, aware of every breath, I closed my eyes and released a breath of my own, thanking a merciful God as I knelt beside my brother. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, but only to myself. My brother’s hand covered mine, and I wept.

Adam and I sat together, cups of coffee in hand, at the small kitchen table as the morning sun slipped brightly through an open window. The bruises circling my brother’s neck were noticeable in the daylight, and the shame I felt gave reason to look away.

I’d wanted to hurt Abby. I wanted her to feel pain when I found out the truth, but not my brother. I’d lost control. I’d ventured into the past, and how could I be certain it wouldn’t happen again?

I glanced at Adam. I had apologized numerous times, last night and again this morning, but it would never be enough. They were only words. Tomorrow at 9:00 a.m., I would board the train for home, back to the Ponderosa. I needed to make sure he knew I wasn’t taking my rage and frustration out on him, and that he’d still have me as his brother.

“I’m scared, Adam.” He looked up and nodded his head. “I’m scared of what I might do the next time someone frightens me. You scared me, Adam. It’s—it’s like an alarm went off inside my head and I reacted with violence. Your words, the truth I’d kept from everyone. What if I’m no different than Jackson? What if I—”

“Stop right there, Joe. You’re nothing like Jackson. You’ve made a start by acknowledging what you went through and what that time in your life did to you emotionally, but it’s only a start. You still have things to work out.”

“You don’t understand.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t know why that man did those things to you. I don’t understand that kind of behavior, but I understand feelings, Joe. I understand that you’ve been hurt and that you’ve carried that hurt for a decade, but if you don’t get angry if you don’t—”

Tears clouded my eyes. I was mentally drained and I couldn’t hear Adam’s words any longer. I found myself, like I had so many times before, in some kind of la-la land where things around me didn’t connect. I stood and stared at the picture of the clipper ship in the adjoining parlor. I could feel the motion of the sea. I smelled the salty air as waves crashed into the small vessel. I swayed and tried to catch myself before I plunged into the whitecaps, only to be lost at sea. I was lost, still so lost and alone …

“Adam?”

I found myself alone, lying on the sofa. My boots had been removed and placed next to the low table next to me. There was a cloth on my forehead, and when I reached up to take it away, Adam stood next to me, helping me to sit up.

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure, Joe. You okay?”

“I guess—”

“You stood up from the table,” he said, “and started walking toward the parlor. Next thing I knew, you’d passed out and had fallen to the floor.”

“The ship—” I started to say.

“What?”

“Nothing, just … nothing, Adam. I’m okay now.”

“Do you remember hitting your head?”

“No,” I said, still somewhat confused. “It’s nothing, really.” This had happened before. Even the night I was robbed, those boys were on me before I knew what happened. I must have been out of it then too.

“Maybe some fresh air.”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

We started walking, slowly at first, and before long, we were at La Café. Since we’d only had coffee for breakfast, we could both stand to eat and this seemed a good enough place for us to end up. Kate was quick to greet us and seated us at a corner table.

We’d walked in silence and I’d thought about what Adam had said. He was probably right to anger me like he did; I just wish I’d reacted differently. My brother wore a neckcloth, hiding the marks I’d made. I felt exhausted and overwhelmed by what I’d done, but most of all, I was ashamed. After Kate took our order, I found myself apologizing to Adam again. I was sitting directly across from him, and still, I couldn’t look up, I couldn’t face my brother head-on.

“It’s finished, Joe,” he said, trying to get my attention, but keeping his voice low, just above a whisper. “You had an inner need to fight the past—the shame you felt, the feeling that maybe you could have prevented it somehow. All this time, you’ve tried to deal with it by yourself and that’s too much for any man to accomplish alone.

“I know how strong you are.” I cringed immediately at Adam’s words and turned my head to the side, but Adam held up his hand. “Not that kind of strong, although I must admit—” he said with a smile. “What I meant to say was you have a strong mind, Joe, and in order to make these feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing end for good, you’ve got to face what happened and fight for the life you deserve. Don’t let hostility over the past take away your future.”

Kate brought our meal and while we sat and ate, Adam pleaded with me again to tell Pa, which this time I said I’d think about it rather than a definite no. It was a long ride home to the Ponderosa, and I’d have plenty of mindless hours to think things out—decide for myself if telling my father or anyone else was the right thing to do.

Knowing what Harold had done to me behind prison walls would only hurt my father, bring unnecessary pain, and worst of all, I knew deep down, he’d blame himself.

And Hoss—no way. One thing I knew for sure was that things like this didn’t happen in his world. He’d take it harder than Pa, and I could never bear to see the look on his face if I told him the truth. But with Adam, being the way he was and knowing the best way to rile me, he’d helped me take the first step, and I’ll always be grateful. It was his way of keeping his never-ending promise to protect.

We bid our goodbyes at the train station, just like we had with Pa a few days back. “I’ll be back someday to visit, Adam, but I need to be away from the city for now and be back home where I belong.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s been an eventful few weeks, hasn’t it?”

I started to laugh, and the new Adam, full beard, and ready to take on the world alone, followed suit. It was the first good laugh we’d had since I’d come to San Francisco. “I’m gonna miss you, brother—and, well, thanks for everything,” I added. “You take care of yourself with whatever you decide to do and get busy with Kate. The woman has eyes for you so don’t let this one slip away, you hear?”

“Loud and clear.”

I climbed aboard the train and found a seat by the window that I lowered halfway and looked down at the landing for my brother. There he stood, dressed not in his formal, businessman’s suit, but in his black shirt and pants—ranch clothes he’d obviously kept, maybe for days like these. His arms were crossed over his chest until I waved at him out the train window, and in return, he lifted his familiar black hat in a salute to me.

Even if we lived hundreds of miles apart—the city boy and the ranch hand—I knew I could always count on him to be there. I hoped he felt the same about me.

I’ll miss my big brother.

The End
12-2011

The next story in this series: – Because We’re Brothers #3

~ A Tragic Turn ~

by jfclover
~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your brother,” he said.

“My brother?”

“How long has Adam worked for the Chronicle?”

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

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

“Pa, calm down.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your brother writes a weekly column.”

“May I read it?”

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

“All right.”

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

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

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

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

“Mind if I read it?”

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

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

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

“Yes, of course, he did.”

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

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

“Yessir.”

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

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

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

I felt relieved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“`

Ben Cartwright, Virginia City, Nevada (stop)

Hoss seriously ill in Fallon (stop)

Herd handed over to Wilkins (stop)

Joseph Cartwright (stop)

“`

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

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

“Bloodletting?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you about finished, Doc?”

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

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

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

“The cattle—” he mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Welcome to Fallon, Cowboy.”

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

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

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

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

“What if I do, Jake?”

“Doc wants him to come to the house.”

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

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

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

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

“If you’re sure you—”

“I’m sure.”

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

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

“Joseph? Joe? Something wrong, son?”

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

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

“He’ll meet us here at six.”

“Anything else?”

“Nothing.”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“After you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excellent selection, sir.”

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

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

“I was.”

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

“I am.”

“Well then, let me explain.”

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

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

“Sold the business? The firm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I knew it would, little brother.”

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

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

“We have, Joe. He’s a good friend.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lunch sounds good.”

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

“Then Le Café it is—noon?”

“Noon, and bring Jacobs if you can.”

“We’ll see.”

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

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

“Anything wrong, Pa?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You bet I do.”

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

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

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

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

“Not one as lovely as Kate.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She sure is and she makes him happy.”

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

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

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

“Basically—”

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

“Hey, where’s Jacobs?” I asked.

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

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

“Don’t remind me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

“Just a visit,” I repeated.

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

“That sounds great.”

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

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

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

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

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

“New in town?”

“Just visiting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do we do now, Doc?”

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

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

“Can he see me, hear me?”

‘It’s possible.”

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

“I think he can hear me, Doc.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“`

Adam Cartwright c/o Chronicle

Come to the hotel immediately.

Room 669

Joe

“`

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

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

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

“Stroke?” Adam mumbled. “How bad?”

“It’s bad.”

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

“How did this happen, Joe?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adam stayed the night; a silent vigil prevailed.

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

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

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

“No change, Doc,” I said.

“Why don’t you let me be the judge?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Now?”

“If you will, yes.”

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

“Your turn. I’ll stay with Pa.”

“Thanks. Coffee’s on the way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Moved? Where?”

“Nevada—our home is in Nevada.”

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

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Joe—be reasonable—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nite, Delsey—and Delsey—thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think?”

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

“Weeks—”

“Well then—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess so—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I only told what I saw, Mister.”

“Name’s Joe.”

“Maria.”

“Maria—I believe I owe you a drink.”

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

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

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

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

“Of what, little brother?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll try my best.”

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

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

“No, Joe. I best be on my way.”

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

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

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

“No bother. Nite, Joe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lazarus, come forth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A package? For me?”

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

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

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

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

A Belated Gift. Merry Christmas, Joe.

Look toward the Billiard Room—enjoy!

Sincerely, Adam

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

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

“I’m Joe Cartwright.”

“My name’s Lilly,” she said softly.

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

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

“Call me Joe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Home,” Adam repeated.

The End
12-2011

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

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