A/N: Having been struggling so much with my other stories, I decided to shift gears completely for the time being and see what happens. This is a story I have been planning for quite a while. The high points are plotted, but I don't how exactly the chips will fall or how long to expect between updates (real life does tend to happen, right?). Bear with me, if you will. :-)
A good bit of this story takes place during Season Fourteen (and the rest after). The events of only a few of the eps will be actually mentioned, and as the timeline of the eps themselves isn't (as far as I can tell) terribly important I have moved a couple of them around. 'Initiation' will fall after 'New Man' in this story, and 'Ambush at Rio Lobo' is moved all the way to the end of the season.
So. I haven't written anything like this before, we'll see how it goes. And on that happy note ... :-)
Town seemed loud these days. Course, that was probably just him.
Joe set the wagon brake and hopped down outside the Emporium. He hadn't been in to Virginia City too often lately. Once he'd finally caught up to Alice's …
Alice. He stopped and took a deep breath, gripping the wagon wheel. She was always there. Still. Right beside Hoss. Was it ever going to get any better?
"Joe Cartwright! Haven't seen you in ages, boy. How've you been?"
Boy. He felt ancient, like the word was so unsuited to him that he should be looking around for Artie Keller's real target. Instead, he pasted on a smile that was probably closer to a grimace and turned, stripping his gloves for a handshake.
"Artie. Keepin' busy."
It was the truth, without offering anything of himself. He'd gotten good at that since he'd moved back into the big house. Of course, that was for entirely different reasons, but it all worked the same.
"Good to see you." Artie gripped his hand, and Joe could feel it coming. He didn't try to stop it—usually went faster that way. "Me and the missus was right sorry to hear about your wife. She was a real fine woman, was Mrs. Cartwright."
"She was." Joe tugged gently away and edged toward the doors. "Thank you."
Easy, quick. Nothing to it.
He could do this.
Artie was either finished or took the hint, because he changed the subject as they entered. "You got a list for me?"
"Here you go." Joe tugged it from his jacket, mumbling a few words he wouldn't say in front of Pa when it snagged on a threadbare patch. It was an old coat, holes in the pockets shouldn't come as any surprise. He should probably replace it while he was here, in fact, but he wouldn't. It was comfortable, he might have protested. Broken in. Really, though, he just couldn't be bothered to care.
Even the half-hearted cussing had been more automatic than irritated. Couldn't be irritated when you just didn't feel anything at all.
"Got all this in stock." Artie had been scanning the list while Joe's mind wandered. "Will take me a bit to get it ready—you want the total now or when you pick it up?"
"Now, if you don't mind. Need to know how much I've got left to spend on harness supplies."
"Of course! Just a minute, then."
Artie scurried across the store for pen and paper, laying aside the Cartwright list for a moment to total up and accept money from a woman standing at the counter. As he waited Joe wandered to the nearest shelf, picking up a jar of local preserves without any real interest. The last time he'd been to the Emporium, Alice had been with him. She had been looking at fabric for new dresses to make as she … as she got bigger, and had been real taken with one pretty blue sprigged pattern in particular. Unbidden, his eyes strayed over the far wall. He was glad not to see it there—Alice must not have been the only lady who liked it, or it had been moved somewhere else. That was good. Joe didn't think he was ever gonna be able to look at a blue dress again without seeing that fabric …
"My Elsa made those preserves."
He blinked, refocusing on an older woman in front of him. Just behind her stood a young lady, her face a fiery color that he might once have found amusing.
"Ma'am?"
"Those preserves you're holding. My Elsa made those. She's a wonderful cook, and not only that but she puts up a fantastic batch of—"
"Mama!" The young lady—Elsa, apparently—tugged in vain on her mother's arm. "Mr. Cartwright doesn't want to hear about my cooking!"
He didn't recognize them, but that didn't mean anything. Every time he came to town it was full of new people, and that had been before … before Alice, even.
Elsa was right, though. He didn't want to hear about her cooking.
"Excuse me, Ma'am." Joe shoved the jar blindly back onto the shelf, stepped around the two women, and crossed quickly to the counter. Artie had finished with his customer, who was off to the side restacking her things into two large baskets, and was ready with the Cartwright total. Joe paid and turned to go, anxious to get back outside where he could breathe. A hand on his arm startled him as he neared the door. He looked around to find Gracie Peterson just stepped out of an aisle.
"Joe. It's so good to see you. How have you been doing?"
He moved his arm, and was a little disconcerted when her hand stayed with it. "Keepin' busy, Miss Peterson." They actually knew each enough well enough for a first-name basis, but Joe suddenly felt like it would be best to keep things formal.
She stepped forward, lowering her voice. "You'll have to excuse Mrs. Schmidt. They haven't been in town long, she probably didn't know."
Long enough for the daughter to identify him, anyway. Still, Miss Elsa had probably heard Artie greet him out on the walk—that would have given her a name. It should have made Joe feel better that the woman so obviously pushing her daughter at him didn't know about Alice … but it didn't. He really couldn't care one way or the other. Vaguely, he wondered if that should worry him, but it didn't seem worth pursuing. He nodded to Gracie, stepping toward the doors. Her fingers tightened.
"Joe." He looked back down at her. "I really am so sorry about Alice."
She was sincere, Joe knew. Everything about Gracie Peterson was sincere. "Thanks, Gracie."
"If you ever … if you ever need to talk …"
Not on her life. The last thing he needed was more talk. It was all Pa had wanted to do, first after Hoss (though that had been for himself as much as Joe) and then Alice. Now … well, they had reached a precarious balance and Joe planned to keep it that way. He didn't know if he had the strength, now that the passing months had started to settle this new reality into his bones, to say a few things without saying everything. And he wasn't going to say everything—not to this female acquaintance, not to Pa, not to Candy or Jamie, not to the preacher, not to anyone. He didn't have the wherewithal to deal with their attempts to help him. To fix him.
They meant well, but he couldn't bring himself to disappoint them on top of all the grief and worry.
They couldn't bring Hoss back. They couldn't bring Alice back.
They couldn't fix him.
They would just have to deal with what he was now … but they didn't have to know all of it. He could give them that, at least—let them think he was feeling a little better.
"Thanks, Gracie." Joe thought she would let him go with that, but she kept on. He would have been amazed, if he'd been able to manage anything other than vaguely desperate.
"My sister's husband died after only a couple of years together." She bit her lip. "I know how hard it can be, and I really hate to see …" Gracie stopped, suddenly awkward. He wondered if she had realized too late that her sister's loss didn't have anything at all to do with him and Alice, or if she just didn't know how to end her offer. Either way, her fingers burned right through his coat and Joe wished she would let go. He didn't want to be rude, but she needed to let him go …
A crash and a roiling puff of flour sent both of them stumbling back. A gasp and a quick apology tumbled over each other as the other customer, the lady with the two heavy baskets, dropped them both and lunged for the overturned bag of flour.
"I'm so very sorry! I couldn't see, I walked right into it …"
Gracie brushed ineffectually at her flour-covered skirt. It might have been wishful thinking, but Joe thought she seemed relieved. "No, no, I understand. Things are everywhere here, I never know what I'll bump into when I turn a corner."
"Oh, your dress." The other customer, a Mexican woman nearer to Joe's age than Gracie's, brushed dark curls from her forehead with white-dusted fingers. Her eyes were round, her face the very picture of dismay. "I am sorry."
"It's really nothing." Gracie touched the other woman's shoulder, and Joe knew a moment of distant admiration. Never let it be said that Gracie Peterson didn't live up to her name. "But I should probably run home and change." She frowned at the flour strewn across the floor—not as much as might have been, from the size of the bag, but still a good pile. "But first, let's get -"
"Not at all, Miss." Artie appeared as if by magic, clutching a broom and pan. "I'll have this finished up before you could get another broom. You go on now."
Gracie nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Keller." She nodded to the other woman, still sitting on the floor, then to Joe. "Joe. It was good to see you."
"Gracie." Joe tipped his hat. Hearing what he hadn't said, she pinked and hurried out the door.
Joe sighed—seemed like he couldn't help hurting people these days—and turned back as Artie waggled the pan at his former customer. "Lina, since you're down there anyways …"
She snatched the pan from the storekeeper, dimpling easily. Artie swept up with quick, sure strokes, and was on his way back across the Emporium before Gracie could have reached the end of the boardwalk. Joe wondered just how many spills the man cleaned up per day.
"Artie," the woman—Lina—called after him, "put this on the hotel's bill, por favor? Someone will come for the rest of the bag later."
A wave to show he'd heard, and Artie disappeared through the back door. Joe stepped forward, holding out a hand as Lina began to rise. He might not feel anything, but Pa had raised him to be a gentleman. She accepted it with a nod and a smile, releasing his fingers quickly as she gained her feet. Joe tipped his hat and started to turn away.
"Do not think badly of her, Señor."
What? He stilled. "I don't, Miss … ?"
"Marquez." Lina Marquez brushed at the flour clinging to her arms. "I know Señorita Peterson a little, and I'm sure she had only your interests at heart."
"I know her, too."
Seeing that he didn't plan to disagree, Lina nodded. "I think, though," she continued slowly, "there is a little girl inside most young ladies, secretly hoping that she will be the one to comfort the grieving prince." A distant smile flitted across her lips, both warm and wry. Once, Joe might have wondered what lay behind such an expression. Now, he was just exhausted and annoyed.
"I'm no tragic hero."
"No." She turned quickly away, righting a few fallen items in her baskets. "But that does not prevent others from seeing you this way."
That was … probably true. He knew he shouldn't have come into town.
"Most ladies?" Joe didn't try to keep the bite out of his voice. "But not you."
"Ah, no." Her voice was muffled. "I gave up fairy tales some time ago."
"And this is … ?"
Lina wasn't giving him advice, or asking him for anything. He wasn't being fair to her. Still, Joe couldn't shake the conviction that this woman, too, wanted something. They all wanted something.
They wanted him to be happy. They wanted him to feel well. They wanted him to talk. They wanted him to listen. They wanted him to move on. They wanted him to be all right. They wanted …
They wanted him to be the old Joe.
Lina didn't know the old Joe, though, and he wasn't being fair.
"This," Joe was startled when Lina whirled back around in a flurry of dark curls and patchwork skirt and impish smirk, "is a well-timed bag of flour to help everyone out of an awkward situation." Joe gaped, and she giggled. The woman giggled. "Go buy your harness supplies, Señor Cartwright. Safe travels back to your ranch." Lina looped one heavy basket over one arm, and the other basket over the other arm, then moved past him and out the door.
He really was a beef-headed idiot.
"Miss … uh, Señorita Marquez." Joe caught up with her only a few feet down the boardwalk. "Look, I … I apologize. I haven't—"
"Señor Cartwright, you certainly have no need." Lina's smile was easy—nothing at all hidden behind it. Somehow, he hadn't offended her. "It was I who set upon you, not the other way around."
He smiled briefly, an automatic response. "I don't think I'd call it that."
"Well, I would!" Lina laughed again, and Joe wished he could join her. He saw the sorrow begin to creep into her eyes, and couldn't let it.
"My Pa tried to raise up gentlemen." Why had he said that, of all things? More gentlemen than him meant Hoss, and Adam, and … Jamie. There was still Jamie. Joe fixed that fuzzy red head in his mind and anchored onto it. "Why don't you let me carry these wherever you're headed?" He tugged gently at one of the baskets. "One of the hotels, you said?"
Lina eyed him for just a moment too long, then nodded. "Very well." He had expected an argument, and was glad she didn't force one. He didn't have the energy. Joe took the baskets, hefted them experimentally, and nodded down at her. "The Continental." Lina directed him toward the next major intersection, and then fell in alongside. "This is just as well, truly. I had promised my cousin Maria that I would pass along her love should I happen to speak to you here, Little Joe Cartwright."
Another grin met his baffled stare. Joe stopped in his tracks, frowning. 'Little Joe' wasn't something he heard very much anymore, and he couldn't begin to think who—
Wait. Maria. He could only remember one Maria …
Joe studied Lina carefully, and the barest hint of a resemblance took him back to a young, pretty face in a dusty tavern just this side of hell, where the beer wasn't cold and his Pa had almost died.
"Los Robles?" he asked.
"The same." Lina dimpled. "Maria would be pleased that you remember." She started again toward the hotel. "She speaks of you in such terms, I was amazed to see that you are not ten feet tall and shining as the sun."
Another automatic smile, but this one at least had the force of memory behind it. "Besides her and the padre, there wasn't much worth rememberin' in that town." Joe offered an apologetic grimace, but she only nodded agreement.
"No. Things are … better since you and your father came, but still it is not a place to call home."
He was sorry to hear it. They had hoped that things would be better with the Walkers gone, but sometimes it took a while for that kind of vacuum to fill. "How is she? Maria?"
Lina's face lit. "Maria is very happy. She has been married this past year, and he has taken her away from the town and the tavern."
It was the first time in a very long time that anyone had spoken to him of a recent marriage without eyeing him cautiously, or showing at least some trepidation. Joe doubted that Lina had spoken unawares—she didn't strike him as the type—and he … appreciated it. People didn't just talk to him anymore, not like this. Pa was always trying to help, Jamie was always worried, Candy was always too hearty, Hop Sing was always trying to feed him something. The hands stopped talking at all when he arrived. When he did make it into town, people were sympathetic. So sympathetic, all the time. Joe wished more of them could manage to be just … normal, and he asked another question about Maria for no other reason than to keep the meaningless patter of everyday conversation flowing.
Lina obliged as if she knew exactly what he needed. She spoke of Maria's new husband, and Maria's new home, and Maria's new employer, and Maria's new puppy, and by the time they reached the rear door of the Continental Hotel Joe had heard more in ten short minutes about the new Señora Maria Vega than he would ever possibly remember (or care to). It felt so good, though, to let the meaningless words just wash over him—to have someone both talk to him and leave him be.
It was enough to make him almost glad he had come to town.
"Just here, on the table." Joe set the baskets down and looked around them. It wasn't a full kitchen—wasn't large enough, for one thing—but held two ovens, a fireplace, and an abundance of shelving filled with a variety of breads and pastries and other sweets. Lina saw him looking and smiled. "The bakery here is separated from the kitchen. Señor Hirschel wished to add a counter to sell fresh baked goods in the lobby, and for that he needed more baked goods." She shrugged. "He believed it would set him apart from the other hotels."
It really had been a long time since he'd been to town. "And has it?"
"I am baking, Señor!" Lina laughed and turned, snatching a tray from one of the shelves. "Of course it has!" Joe smiled politely and accepted one of the offered treats. It was light and airy and stuffed with apple and spices, and he snagged another shamelessly before Lina could return the tray to its shelf. She grinned, and he motioned with the first half-eaten pastry.
"Well, if they're all like this then I guess so."
"They are not." He raised a startled brow, and Lina grinned. "But they are all just as good. When next you are in town, Señor Cartwright, knock again on my door and you will see."
He stuffed down the last bite. "I might take you up on that."
"Please do."
Her voice was suddenly different, in just two words. Joe looked around quickly, and felt … betrayed by what he saw in her eyes. Angered. Disappointed. Ambushed. He didn't want grief or sorrow from her. He didn't want understanding. Joe touched his hat abruptly and turned to go, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.
"Joselito." The shock of the memories stilled his feet, rather than any desire to stay. Another little town, this one full of laughing señoritas and crazy laws and an exasperated big brother … Hoss. His stomach cramped. "I know what it is to need so badly to speak, and yet to stay silent for fear of causing pain to those who love me." Joe pulled in a long, shuddering breath. "My own hurts rest in the heart of an old washer woman I met only the once, who likely thinks me half mad to this day." Lina's laugh was breathy, humorless. "But it helped me to say them, even so." Her footfalls were soft, and she stopped on the far side of the table, well before reaching him. "If you wish, I—"
"Most of the time I feel like I burned with them, and the rest of the time I wish I had."
The admission burst forth with startling ferocity, the words loud and ugly after so long locked inside - denied, pushed down so they didn't get out.
She deserved it, though. This woman deserved it, after taking his easy afternoon from him.
Lina pressed a hand gently to her heart.
Joe released his pent-up breath, turned, and walked out the door.