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Whatever the Cost
by faust
I.
"He didn't do it."
It elicits some reaction, breaks their routine of the past two days. It's almost a relief.
Well, it certainly is a relief for him to finally say it out loud, and it might be one for the others to have their attention diverted from the sickbed, if only for a moment.
And divert their attention it does. All heads shoot up, even Paul's, although up to now the doctor seemed completely absorbed in taking Joe's pulse. (Although Adam hasn't, not even for a second, believed that Paul had truly been preoccupied with counting heartbeats. It is merely a mannerism, a habit adopted over the years; a way to pretend that he is doing something, that he can do something, anything at all, for Joe. Which, as they all are aware, he cannot. Could not from the moment they had carried Joe to the doctor's office and deposited him on the bed on which he still lies without having stirred consciously even once ever since.)
It is Pa who voices their combined…bewilderment.
"Pardon me?" Edgy. He's edgy—no wonder after the past days.
Adam sighs, then repeats a tad louder, a tad more pronounced, a tad on the defensive side already, "He didn't do it."
It's a familiar feeling, to know he thinks something no one else thinks, something no one else would dare think. "Will Kettler," he adds because he feels the need to be precise, to be abundantly clear about this, lest they can pretend they only misinterpret his words. "He didn't shoot Joe."
"He was caught with the smoking gun in his hand," Pa says in an overly even voice. "Perhaps that has slipped your memory."
Pa isn't prone to sarcasm; he resorts to it only under certain circumstances. Acerbic remarks are Adam's realm, and while in general he ardently welcomes intruders, now he feels almost ambushed by Pa's invasion. Their roles are solidly set: he is sarcastic; Pa endures it. Not the other way round. Pa's transgressing here is like poaching in Adam's lands, and it unsettles him. And of course, exactly that is Pa's intention: to unsettle, to put in defense, to quieten.
Adam acknowledges the move with a twitch of his eyebrow. (Unspoken sarcasm, he's a master of this. Even if Pa tried, he wouldn't get a foot on that ground.) "That doesn't mean he shot it before," he replies then, just as calmly. "He could have picked it up." Or someone could have given it to him…but who? And why? Ah, no, the 'why' would be quite obvious, right?
"He was caught coming from where the shot must have been fired," Paul points out, after a worried glance at Pa.
"And everybody knows he was mad at Joe for beating him in taking Carole out. He even fessed up to spying on them." Hoss stands and crosses the room to grip Adam's shoulders, to squeeze them, and to try and manoeuver him to a chair and push him down onto it.
It may be meant to calm and pacify, but all it does is annoy Adam. They're trying to handle him. Put him out of one of his strange notions. But he will not be handled. Or led from his chosen course of thinking. He wonders why they even try.
"But that's just it," he says, twisting out of Hoss's grasp. "Why would he admit spying on them? Why admit to even having been there? He could have claimed he'd come from somewhere else."
"He had the gun in his hand." Now Pa's strained tone indicates he's speaking to an imbecile.
Adam clenches his teeth. Pa has not left Joe's bedside for longer than needed to see to his most personal matters during the past two days. Without sleep and proper food, he has kept up his constant watch although both Hoss and Adam have repeatedly tried to relieve him, have actually begged him to let them take over. But, no, Pa will not be removed from his position at his youngest's side. He has hardly taken his eye off Joe's fever-flushed face lest he miss any change, for better or worse. He's close to the end of his endurance, and so Adam concedes him leniency this once.
"It could have been any gun," he grinds out, deliberately not even glaring at his father. "We don't know if it was the one with which Joe was—"
Pa, on the other hand, doesn't seem inclined to grant him leniency. He glares at him as he all but bellows, "It was still smoking, in case you've forgotten."
So apparently there is some strength left in him. But then again, Pa's roar has never been affected by exhaustion, sickness, or anguish.
Adam's leniency has its limits, too, but before he can open his mouth to respond in kind, Hoss intervenes.
"Adam, Will said he was gonna get back at Joe. Me and you heard it when he was boasting how he'd put Joe in his place."
Yes, he had been there in the saloon, had heard how Will had drunkenly ranted. How he'd said that Joe might think being a "cattle baron" made him a better man than Will, that he might think money could buy him everything, even the love of a girl, but that he, Will, would show Joe that a "high and mighty" Cartwright could easily be bested by a humble Will Kettler, that a modest tinker was worth no less than a filthy rich rancher's son.
People had tried to reason with Will. Had pointed out that Joe and Carole had been friends for a long time already, since long before the hawker had come to Virginia City, and that even though Carole admittedly had shown a certain interest in Will, he should be aware that Horace Miller sheltered his precious only child from everything he deemed not proper for a young lady, which, as was well-known to everyone, was almost everything outside of the Millers' own four walls. It was more likely that a camel would fit through the eye of a needle than for Carole's father to allow her socializing with someone the likes of Will Kettler anyway. After all, Will was a vagrant, a craftsman travelling from town to town, repairing pots and pans and never staying for longer than he was needed—and whose father would want his daughter be associated with a man like that?
But still, even considering all that… "It doesn't mean he'd shoot at Joe. He was drunk, Hoss, disappointed. He needed someone to put blame on—I think he really cares for the girl, and he realized she'd never be his. So he got drunk, and he let off steam. It was drunken speech, that's all. Can't you see that?"
The doctor pats Pa's arm, then he says what Pa would say—only without rage. "But can't you see that all evidence speaks against Kettler? He's got a motive, he was heard threatening Joe, he was at the right place at the right time, he was found with the gun in his hand. What makes you think he didn't do it?"
It's a reasonable question. It's a reasonable way to sum it all up. Put like that, only someone insane would object to the only possible conclusion that Will Kettler must be guilty of shooting at Joe from an ambush, and according to Dr. Martin's prognosis, most probably murdering Ben Cartwright's youngest son. Nothing speaks against it. Nothing. But…
Adam pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath, then he sets his jaw and replies, "It doesn't…feel right. It's all coming together too smoothly, too easily. Something just feels…fishy. And Will Kettler, he's never appeared the type, has he? Doesn't even wear a gun…" He shrugs. "I'm aware I've got no positive proof, but...I just know he didn't do it."
He's surprised he doesn't hear a collective groan, which would be the usual reaction to him saying "I just know it." Instead, they just stare at him.
Remarkably, their silent disapproval is worse than groans or even outbursts would be, and Adam almost wishes to take his words back, to concede to their sentiment, but he can't because he will never divert from the path he deems right for the sake of consonance—and suddenly the room is too crowded, the air too thick with looming death, and Adam has to get out, get away, get into action, get…clarity.
It hurts to rip himself from his family, from their united vigil at Joe's bedside, but once he's in motion it's surprisingly easy to bolt out of the room and out of lethargy.
Finally, he's got a job to do.
ooOoo