I have never written in this style before so thought I'd give it a go. Let me know what you think. Good, bad, awful, never do it again ….

Part 2 - thank you for the helpful feedback. After a bit of a think, I've done some revision so hopefully it works better. It's not an easy or natural style for me to write in so it was a bit of stretching for my creative muscles.

Hindsight

They say that hindsight gives a man perfect vision. I sure could have used better vision than what I have had over these last few weeks. As I think back on it, I can't believe I allowed myself to be so blinded. How could I have allowed a virtual stranger to worm his way between myself and my son? How could I have so totally failed to protect him?

I can hear the clock tolling the hour in the empty room below us and I can't suppress a deep shudder. In my exhausted thoughts, the chimes sound like a death knell and I find myself shifting closer as if I can ward off whatever may reach out from the dark and take my son from me. The maudlin thoughts keep building and I'm struggling to keep them at bay.

"Stop it!" I quietly admonish myself as my thoughts run amok in the quiet of the early morning darkness, but I find myself reaching towards the lamp and turning the wick just a little higher. As light filters into the room, my eyes are locked on my son's face. Tiny beads of sweat slide down the side of his cheek and I reach out for the washcloth and bowl of water once again.

"I'm so sorry, Son."

The words seem so empty and hollow as I continue to wipe the dampened cloth across his face. The fever that burns under my fingertips has raged for three days and I have barely moved from where I sit now. It is entirely my fault my son is here. It was my hardheadedness and stubborn refusal to see what was right under my nose that caused all of this.

"Forgive me, Son."

Pa's soft-spoken words of contrition continue to fall on deaf ears as they have for the past three days. I don't think my brother can hear anything that any of us have to say. Paul says to talk to him. To draw him back to us, but I'm not entirely sure he wants to come back. That letter he left propped up against his mirror said it all. I never thought I'd see the day that Pa could break, but this just might be the thing that does it. The guilt is eating him up inside. The dark shadow of regret is wrapped around him and he can't break free from it until my brother wakes up and tells Pa that he's forgiven. God help us all if that doesn't happen!

I saw Pa buckle when first Inger and then Marie were taken from him, but he somehow pulled himself back upright again and carried on. This time it's different. This time he's carrying a world of guilt over angry words that cannot be taken back until Joe wakes up. Even then, I don't know what my stubborn, mule-headed brother will say. I feel drained and I slowly make my way in to sit across from Pa and he barely nods in acknowledgement at my presence. His hands continue to wipe at Joe's face and I can see the pent-up tears in his eyes. The fact he won't make eye contact with me says it all. He took those words upon himself and now he's punishing himself. Normally I would want to shake Joe and make him see what he is doing to Pa, but this time I can't. As much as I want to deny it, Joe had every right to say what he said. I just pray he gets to hear my father tell him how sorry he is.

I've watched my father handle my brother since the day Joe was born and Pa communicates so much through his hands. Joe's like that. He needs a touch; like somehow it makes things real for him. I guess maybe it's also why he's so quick to use his fists to settle something. As Pa wipes at Joe's face, I can almost hear in my head what he wants to say. It's the cruelest blow that Jenkins managed to twist their connection to each other and use it against them. He made fun of Joe's needs and made the kid feel like … well … like just a kid! I wish I'd heard it for myself. Maybe then I could have done something. Instead, I just figured that Joe was being his usual emotional self and exaggerating things. I mean it's not like he doesn't twist Pa around his finger to get himself out of trouble at times.

Pa looks exhausted. His eyes keep slipping closed and I want to grab him by the shoulders and steer him to bed. But I know he won't budge until he gets the chance to clear the air with Joe. He's still kicking himself because he welcomed an old acquaintance into our home and Jenkins and his son played my father like a fiddle. He used Pa's honourable nature to try to pay him back for some perceived debt from all those years ago. He couldn't have picked a more vindictive target than trying to destroy the relationship between my father and his youngest boy.

My father's chin finally drops to his chest and he suddenly jolts upright in the chair. I try suggesting, yet again, that he get some sleep and he waves me away with a hand. The weeks of ever so subtle slander and lies that sowed seeds of doubt in my father's head are not easy to uproot. Joe's fickle nature did nothing to help his cries of innocence and we all fell into Jenkins' trap to some degree I guess.

Except Hop Sing.

Oh, how I wish for the hundredth time that I had listened to his wisdom and not allowed my own irritation at my brother to allow those seeds to take root in my mind too.

It's not just Pa that needs to ask for forgiveness.

I can hear Adam's footsteps along the hall, tryin' to go quiet like so's he won't wake me. Doesn't he know I ain't slept a wink all night? I tried to give Pa a spell to go and rest, but he wouldn't have none of it. He won't leave Joe as if he's afraid or something that Joe's gonna run off on us all again. Course when he left before, he knew what he was doin'. He wrote that dangblasted letter to Pa, tellin' him just how hurt he was. I saw Pa's face when he started on readin' it and I wanted ta find my little brother and pound him into the ground. But then Adam came home with some things that showed us a few home truths. Joe weren't makin' it up after all. That snake had been settin' him up ever since he walked in our front door and none of us could see past his slick words. Well … Hop Sing did. But then he's always been partial to my little brother.

No, that ain't fair.

Hop Sing actually listened to Joe when the rest of us just put it down to the famous Joe Cartwright temper. When Joe gets riled it's like a runaway team of horses. There ain't no stoppin' him 'til he's done blowed out.

I wish I'd listened to him.

I cain't hear Adam no more so maybe he's gone back to bed. I hope so 'cause he needs ta sleep. He's been beatin' himself up something fierce that he believed Jenkins' lies about Joe. Of course, when it's two against one and the two are guests in Pa's house, that don't help. Then Joe don't always help himself neither. He's got a trail of dumb things behind him that just helped Pa believe the lies. Not that Adam's no saint, but if that dadblamed weasel had tried tellin' Pa those things about Adam, Pa woulda just laughed in his face. None of us woulda thought twice about Adam doin' nothin' wrong.

But Joe?

I don't think I'll ever forget the look on Joe's face when Pa told him he was ashamed of him. If I'm honest about it, I feel sick right down to my boots thinkin' on it. The proof looked convincin' and Joe sure did look guilty.

He and Joe have been buttin' heads for weeks now, ever since that Jenkins fella and his boy came to stay here. Pa said he was someone he'd done business with years ago and when they showed up outta the blue like that, Pa done what he always does. He opened the door and welcomed them in. How could he know he was invitin' in a coupla rattlers that were gonna bite his boy?

How did we ever let those two snakes make us think the worst of my little brother? Then again, I guess that's what snakes do. That little gal, Eve, blamed all that trouble on a snake.

I wish I could.

But I know I let my brother down.

Maybe I need ta get up and sit with Pa for a bit. Tell him it's gonna be okay. Joe's tougher'n he looks. Except I ain't never been good at lyin' and I don't really know if Joe's gonna make it through this one. If he doesn't … that thought just sticks in my throat. If Joe dies … I just don't know what Pa's gonna do. I don't know what any of us are gonna do.

As I grab my robe and wrap it around me, it seems that the cold goes deeper than that. I don't know if I'm ever gonna be warm again.

I can't bear to look into Hoss' eyes as he makes his way across the room and sits down. I've always prided myself on looking a man in the eye, but I can't bear to see the reproach that I know is there. Adam hasn't said it and neither has Hoss, but they don't need to. They know, just as I do, that this is all my fault.

My youngest boy has always been my greatest challenge as a father. I've never said so, but Joe didn't come with a set of instructions and I could have done with something extra from his maker. It's been a fine line between helping him mature and take responsibility for himself and crushing that which makes him who he is. As I reach out and twist his fingers in between mine, I can't help but remember the tiny fingers that grasped at my finger when he was only a few minutes old. He was so small and fragile. Not like when Adam was born; healthy and a good size. Or like Hoss, who has somehow never been really small. Joe was early and Marie cried tears of relief to hear a healthy wail as Paul examined our newborn son. Joe has never been one to be quiet.

So why didn't I listen when he tried to talk to me? To tell me that the two men I had welcomed under my roof were working to divide us by making my son look bad?

God help me! After that last argument, I told him I was ashamed to call him my son! Of all the words that have ever come out of my mouth that I have lived to regret, those are at the top of the list. The look on Joseph's face went from raw fury to utter heartbreak in a matter of seconds. And I put it there.

May God forgive my stubborn pride that said I knew better than a seventeen-year-old. I have no right to ask for anything from him, but I pray for Joe to wake up so I can tell him I was wrong.

So very wrong.

The air feels heavy around me. Like it's weighing me down. It feels dark … like somebody buried me in a hole and left me to die.

I don't want to die.

I have no idea where those words keep coming from, but they seem to echo in my thoughts.

I don't want to die.

Somewhere in the darkness I can see a gun pointed at me. No … it's aimed at someone else.

Pa!

Why is Pa there in the darkness?

I can hear his voice, but the words seem all jumbled together. I can't make sense of them.

Pa!

I try to call out to him. I want him to speak louder. Clearer. I can't hear him. I strain against the darkness and try to focus on his voice and suddenly I can feel him too. The strength that has been there all my life is wrapped around my hand. I will my fingers to squeeze back and suddenly the darkness shifts.

Joe!

I can hear him calling my name, but the darkness keeps me buried. I want to shout. I try to open my eyes, but it hurts so much that I almost slide back into the darkness. But then I hear it again.

Joe. Wake up, Son.

I don't need to open my eyes to see the pain on my father's face. I can hear it in his voice. Feel it in the grip he has on my hand. I need to put a stop to that pain.

I don't dare hope for a second chance.

Ever since Joe rode out of the yard, vowing he wouldn't return while ever Jenkins was in our home, I have been caught in a nightmare. Joe's angry words were short and to the point. He told me in no uncertain terms that if I was so ashamed of him as my son, then he would no longer wear the Cartwright name. My stubborn, emotional, willful boy could not have chosen a better retort if he had tried. It felt like a knife twisting in my chest as I read those words in his hastily scrawled letter.

He said he'd gone into town to withdraw the funds I told him he was responsible for. If he wanted to be counted as a man, then he needed to pay his way when he got it wrong. Like the damage to Sam's bar after that brawl he'd barely crawled away from. It was the last straw as far as I was concerned after his attitude had taken a decided turn for the worse over recent weeks.

Except it was me who got it wrong.

Joe didn't owe anybody a cent and if I hadn't insisted on it, he would never have been anywhere near that bank. He could not have been lined up by a desperate bank robber. Adam had finally gotten the truth of the matter that I had totally missed. Jenkins had wound up that crowd in the bar and left my son to fend for himself while he watched from the top of the stairs. He enjoyed seeing my son beaten by grown men and he allowed me to tear strips off my boy when I saw the state he was in and heard Jenkins' lies about how it had started.

It was the last in a long string of lies.

It was Adam who had dug under the surface to find the truth. It was my eldest son, who so often knocks heads with my youngest, who made me see the truth of Joseph's words. I followed my son into town, hoping to resolve the mess when I found him in the bank. I could not have known that even though he was furious with me, my boy would step in front of a bullet aimed at me.

I don't dare hope that Joe will forgive me, but I pray that I will at least get to apologise to him. As I sit and hold onto his hand, I can feel his fingers moving. They feel so weak, unlike the usual strong grip he has, but his fingers are most definitely moving!

"Joe!"

"Joe. Wake up, Son."

Please.

I've been up for hours, unable to sleep, so I figured I'd get an early start on the chores. As I finish up and make my way back inside, something is different. The blanket of fear that has shrouded us all for days seems to have diminished somehow. It isn't until I hear voices drifting down the stairs that I know why. I find myself climbing the stairs two at a time, afraid that I'm wrong.

"Joe. Wake up, Son."

My father's voice carries out from Joe's room and I shove the door wide open. Hoss looks up at me with tears in his eyes and I stumble towards the bed. It's not my imagination! Joe's eyes are open and trying to focus on my father's face.

"Pa."

The breathless voice that whispers that one word is not my brother's voice. Joe shouts. Joe yells. Joe laughs wildly. He has never known how to whisper, even as a small boy. He doesn't do life quietly. And yet that one word is so soft that we all strain to see if there is any more.

"Pa … forgive me."

A few short hours ago I had thought my father was close to breaking. At that moment, I watch him gently gather my brother into his arms and I know that he has just been restored. The conversation that is yet to come is not important. There will be time to hash it all out and each of us speak our piece. It doesn't matter at this moment, because I have my brother back. And Pa has his Joseph back.

Hindsight is supposed to give us perfect vision. As I have agonised over the events of the last few weeks, the only thing I can see perfectly is that nobody could break the bond between my father and my youngest brother. If only Jenkins could have known that, he might have saved us all a world of grief and simply ridden on past Virginia City instead of trying to exact revenge for an old grudge.

If only.