"I know, Hoss—I just have to see for myself. Maybe I can convince him to come back." Adam tightened his gun belt and swung into his saddle.
Hoss looked as if he were going to pull his older brother off his horse and strangle him. "Dagnab it, Adam, are you joking around or something? I told you, I saw with my own eyes—"
Ben cut him off. "Hoss, let's let him go." He turned to Adam. "I hope you find what you're looking for. You're sure you don't want either of us to go with you?"
Adam squinted into the sun. "No thanks, Pa. This I have to do alone." He reached down and accepted his father's hearty handshake. Tipping his hat to Hoss, he wasted no time nudging his horse into a gallop.
"I can't believe this," Hoss seethed. "Does he not believe me or something?"
"He can't accept your word that Joe has left our family. It's something between the two of them." Ben gazed after his firstborn until he was gone from view, then clapped Hoss on the shoulder and led him inside.
BBBBBBB
Self-centered mutt. Son of a Frenchie wench of ill-repute. Backwoods New Orleans youngest-born whelp, more comfortable with attention than hard work.
For the first time since Little Joe had run away, Adam allowed himself to find comfort in creating a variety of slurs to describe his youngest brother. He remembered a time when he and Little Joe had insulted each other through the alphabet, alternating whose turn it was. Joe had gleefully yelled, "Yankee!," leaving Adam to finish anticlimactically with the letter "z."
The comfort was short-lived, however, as Adam ran out of ideas and returned to worrying…and wondering if there was anything he could have done. Who even knew if that man was really Joe's brother? And why was it so important that he was a son of Joe's biological mother? He showed up out of nowhere with an unverifiable story, indirectly brought about a severe beating for Little Joe, and still Joe was crazy over this newcomer.
To the point of running away with him, like they were eloping or something. This thought brought on a fresh wave of angry name-calling that ended with Adam yelling out loud just to clear his head.
Hoss had caught up to them late the next day, and brought back a report that Little Joe was not coming back. We'll see about that, thought Adam.
BBBBBBBB
Adam had been twelve when Little Joe was born. He remembered the puckered lips, the tiny fists clenched in rage against the universe, the purple-faced cries that faithfully woke up the whole household at 2:00 and 5:00 a.m. every single night. Adam's engineering degree couldn't hold a candle to Little Joe's expertise in chemistry, the mess in his diapers mixing biological fluids that automatically triggered Adam's gag reflex when he was called to change them. Joe's first word had been a swear word, which had put Adam on stall-mucking duty for several weeks in a row. Adam and Joe's sibling rivalry had started at quite an early age; Joe could practically smell it in the air when Adam looked away while watching him, crawling away at the first prison break opportunity. More than once he'd had to frantically summon the whole household to search the brush. Mother Marie only remembered French words during such occasions.
Then had come the fateful night before Adam was scheduled to take the train to college in Boston. He'd been absentmindedly packing the last essential items, his stomach a perfect knot of excitement and terror, and then he'd heard a tiny knock at the door.
"Who's there?" Adam said sharply.
"Uh…uh…it's me, Adam."
"I'm busy."
For some reason, six-year-old Little Joe had always interpreted those words to mean, "Please enter." He eagerly opened the door and slammed it in enthusiasm, crashing into his older brother as if he were his personal scratching post.
"Joe—" Adam began irritably.
"So why are you leaving?" Joe asked for the umpteenth time, rolling on the bed and upsetting Adam's suitcase.
Adam made a valiant attempt to swallow his annoyance. "I'm learning engineering, Joe. How to make things run better, so it takes less work and gets better results. Progress."
"So why don't you just stay here and keep reading your books?"
"Because books aren't enough, I want to hear it from teachers."
"Then why do you read the books in the first place?"
Adam used a spare foot to kick the suitcase out of the way, and climbed into bed. "I'm tired, Little Joe, we'll talk in the morning." He blew out the candle to send a clear message.
"Oh, okay." Little Joe climbed into bed with him.
Adam flopped onto his back in frustration. As the youngest and favorite, Joe couldn't fathom a universe in which his presence was not forever wanted.
"Adam?" Joe asked, trying to snuggle. Adam pulled away. "What are you going to do if you are too hot or too cold in Baaston?"
Adam froze. "Well….I guess I'd light a fire, do the same thing I'd do here…I'll get used to it, Joe."
"What if you aren't happy there? Will you come back?"
"Well..yeah, I guess. But it's not good to just give up on things that you don't like at first."
"Then why are you leaving this ranch? If you don't like it, you still shouldn't give up on us."
"I'm not giving up—education is progress—ahhh, Little Joe, you ask so many questions!" Despite himself, Adam found himself laughing, and tickled his little brother to distract both of them from these kinds of inquiries.
"They were good questions," Adam muttered to himself, pulling his horse into Virginia City. He could feel sympathetic eyes following him. If his horse weren't so tired, he'd have kept right on going and camped under the stars.
The bartender saw him coming, and had his shot ready for him at the bar by the time he sat down. "Adam, I'm so sorry," he said. "Do you need directions to where Joe is?"
"No thanks, Hoss told me. I'll find him, don't worry." Adam accepted a second shot and turned to face the corner, sending definite signals that he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.
He'd felt a bit foolish returning home immediately after college, while his fellow students took jobs hundreds of miles from where they were raised. Those doubts were mostly (but not completely) quenched when the entire family had surprised him in Boston for his college graduation. These days, no one remembered anything about the graduation, possibly due to what happened afterwards.
"You no like Hop Sing's cooking, Hop Sing get on next boat to China! We next to sea right now!" Hop Sing had fumed.
"I love your cooking, really I do, but I have the rest of my life to enjoy it," Adam said, laughing. "I just want you to try this food that the Italians eat. It's so good I think we'll all be eating it one day. I heard of a new place that we can try."
"Peet-za?" Pa had repeated dubiously as we'd taken our seats in the restaurant.
"Trust me, Pa. Hi," Adam said to the girl who took orders. Literally a girl; she looked barely older than Joe, who was ten.
"Hi, do you know what you want?" she asked pleasantly.
"Yes, I know what kind of pizza we want, but we need to know how many to order. What do your pizzas look like?"
The girl looked uncertainly at Adam, then at the others. "Well, it's…it's a circle of dough, then a layer of cheese, and you can get whatever toppings you want."
"Thanks—sorry, I was unclear. How big are your pizzas?"
"Oh, they're round." She drew a circle in the air in case Adam did not know what a round shape was.
Adam swallowed a surge of annoyance. "I'm trying to decide how many pizzas to order for my family." He heard a muffled guffaw from Little Joe's general direction, and crunched Joe's toes under the table despite his distinguished title of new college graduate. He turned back to the girl. "So are the circles like this"—he held his hands eight inches apart—"or this"—he held his hands twelve inches apart.
"There are eight slices in each of our pizzas."
Ben covered his mouth in a valiant attempt to hide a smile. Hop Sing stared daggers at Adam for turning down a homecooked meal in order to sit through this debate.
Adam drew in a deep breath. "Well…no matter how the pizza is cut up, I still need to know approximately how large—"
"Oh, are you wondering how many people will it feed?"
Adam exhaled in relief and leaned back in his seat. "Yes. Yes, how many grown men will each pizza feed?"
"Well…" she shrugged and raised her eyebrows at the group. "How many slices do you each want?"
Ordinarily the Cartwrights took extra steps to maintain appearances in public, but after the three-day journey, final arrangements for Adam, and the emotionally-charged commencement, the family was all too ready to let off some steam. General hilarity ensued, Little Joe laughing the loudest and falling off his chair. A large man from the back had escorted them out with a string of Italian words that Adam hoped he never learned the translation of. Over the years, Adam had attempted to describe the situation to a variety of people, but usually met with blank stares…people who weren't there didn't understand.
"Rascal," Adam muttered under his breath, letting the alcohol simmer into his bloodstream. "He comes out there to fetch me, then runs away himself. I give up job offers for the family, and he gives up the family for a perfect stranger. When I see him—" Suddenly seized by a twisting pain in his gut, Adam once again felt the abrupt transition between fond memories, anger, and heart-wrenching loss. He stumbled upstairs for an early start to his sleepless night.
BBBBBBBB
Adam winced as he stumbled out of the hotel, walking a broken line to the stables for his horse. "Shh, girl, it's okay," he whispered, determined not to take his mood out on an animal. He led her into the street and swung into the saddle, pinching his forehead to fight down a headache.
"I thought you'd be up early, Adam," Sheriff Coffee greeted, approaching cautiously from Adam's left.
Adam forced himself to respond civilly. "Got some unfinished business. Today's the day, it'll be a hard ride, then camping out when I get there."
"Not on a vendetta, I hope?"
"No, my family believes in justice, but not in wasting our lives with revenge. I just want my brother back." Adam allowed his horse to begin strolling.
"You know where to find him?" the sheriff asked.
"Yeah, I have a map. Thanks, Sheriff."
"Good luck, Adam. We all miss Joe." Adam left at a gallop.
Shortly after Joe turned fourteen, he had found yet another new obsession: Morse Code. Fortunately he'd memorized the basics before his wandering attention took him somewhere else. He taught Adam, Adam never suspecting how Joe intended on using it. It started with innocent taps on the dinner table while stuffy visitors were at the Ponderosa, until Pa figured out what was going on. Then it graduated to taps against the side of Adam's thigh in the middle of church. This was right after puberty, and Joe tortured Adam during services with his opinions of a variety of young ladies in the pews surrounding them. Adam had eventually threatened severe pain if Joe continued to analyze female body parts in such graphic detail, so Joe had gone to Hoss instead ever since.
Then there had been the birthday presents over the years. Little Joe had amazing powers of frugality when it came to other people. Every birthday he would give Adam some craft project built of remnants from objects that had been lying around his bedroom for years. Once he had framed a kite that he'd broken, so Adam could have memories of when they'd flown it together. A homemade frame, too, make from twigs in the backyard. Another time Joe had forgotten that he'd stolen a bottle of whiskey from Adam's room, and proudly gave it back to Adam half-empty. After the pizza fiasco, Joe had dried a mud-pie that he'd created based on Adam's descriptions, and served it to the family for dessert. After all, that was the only way they'd ever get to taste pizza. Adam had laughed, rolled his eyes, and promptly thrown it out the window. What he'd give to have one last look at it now.
Adam dismounted so his horse could rest, and lay down in the sod and yelled until his voice was hoarse.
BBBBBBBB
Only an hour left until the confrontation. He would have to hurry if he wanted to meet Joe before sundown. After giving his horse an extra snack, he checked the map one final time and dug in his heels as deeply as he dared.
There had been a time when an actress had visited from San Francisco, a friend of a friend who needed a rest during a journey. All four Cartwrights had vied for her attentions, Pa included this time. Adam was winning, as he adored Shakespeare, and was settling onto the couch with her to debate the virtues of iambic pentameter versus rhymed tetrameter couplets, when Joe voiced a suggestion.
"How about we have a play of our own?" Joe suggested innocently. "Maybe re-enact the Taming of the Shrew?"
Adam was annoyed, but then surprised. "You've read the Taming of the Shrew?"
"I have a working knowledge." Joe met Adam's gaze, confidently with a bit of a challenge.
Annie jumped to her feet excitedly. "I love it!" she squealed. "Who will we be?"
"Since you're the only female, I guess you'll have to play the shrew. It will take a lot of acting, I know," Joe said a bit too sweetly, and Adam rolled his eyes.
"Okay." Annie slouched and put her hands on her hips, a saucy gleam in her eye.
Joe walked over to the table, put on Adam's hat, and buckled Adam's gun belt so that it hung low on his hips. He crossed his arms and leaned exaggeratedly against the couch. "Now Katherine," he drawled, "You are a member of the Cartwright family, and you know what that means? It means you've got part of the responsibility of running this ranch."
Annie stole a look at Adam and then back to Little Joe, her lips slightly parted in the beginnings of a grin. "Come now, Petruchio, what of my sister Bianca here? She hasn't done any work in three weeks. Isn't this an equal enterprise?" She jerked her head toward Hoss.
"Oh, yes, pardon me, my education just interfered with my thinking. Hey!" Joe yelped, falling to the floor from too much leaning. The couch slid away to make room.
Hoss fled from the room to muffle his loud laugh, and also to avoid being dragged into the play. Adam glared at his father, a silent plea not to encourage this charade.
Annie swaggered over to Joe, standing over him, and ungracefully yanking him to his feet like the shrew she was pretending to be. "Learn to divide equally next time. And I will never marry you!"
"I am irresistible to women!" Little Joe shrieked, his arms flailing. "It's not my fault that they didn't teach me basic math at Engineering School in Baa-baa-baa-ston!"
Adam leaped to his feet, sparks flying from his eyes. He took a menacing step forward, instinct pushing him to respond with brotherly violence, but too embarrassed to even admit embarrassment in front of Annie. Without a word he joined Hoss outside. He and Joe had not spoken for a week, Adam finally forcing himself to admit that there were plenty of times when he'd stolen Joe's girl as well.
A whole week of incommunicado. Seven glorious days, ripe with potential, seven days that he could have spent doing anything at all with Little Joe. Mucking stalls, who cared?
"There he is." Adam gasped, and felt his pulse quicken. He dismounted and fumbled with his horse's rope, his fingers numb as he tied her to a tree. He chose to approach from the front, although he knew Joe wouldn't be alone.
Adam put up a hand to shield his eyes from the setting rays of the sun, knowing that he didn't have much daylight left. Nevertheless he stopped short, his legs unwilling to carry him the rest of the way across the flat expanse of prairie. A shudder came to him unbidden, starting in his low abdomen and violently shaking his spine. He took a raggedly breath inward, which brought on a series of coughs. Mechanically he forced himself to take one step in front of another, right until he stood at the foot of his little brother's grave.
And that was it. No voice from heaven, no lightning strike; just the proof that Adam needed that the memory book of Little Joe was complete, with no further entries. Hoss's crude rendition of a cross leaned to one side, the only sign that this patch of dirt held his brother's body, and the one next to it held Clay Stafford.
Adam felt himself knocked over by another tidal wave of grief, and his hands clenched into fists at his side. "You didn't listen, Joe, you didn't listen, you never listen, you run away with this fool and guess what, if he was telling the truth, he's still only a half-brother!" Adam yelled, pacing now. "But he was so exciting because of his shady past, and that was appealing to you, wasn't it? The Ponderosa wasn't exciting enough for you. We were not exciting enough for you, I was not—I was not—"
Knees giving way, Adam fell in an ungraceful heap at the foot of the fresh dirt. Using upper body strength, he pivoted and stretched his body on top of the grave, the closest to a hug he could get. "To die so senselessly, Joe," Adam whispered, his face smeared with dirt. "You get beat up, you know they're after Clay, and that raises your hot-headed New Orleans blood. You run out here with him, now they're furious, they've got guns. Hoss comes after you and all he finds is two bodies right here, now he has to live with that image, Joe, is that what you wanted?" Finally the first sobs broke free from his chest, seizing his torso until their wrath was spent. He beat the earth, a tantrum against the finality of death.
It was now fully dark. Adam rolled over and looked up at the sky. He got the shuddering hiccups, the ones he hadn't had since he was a kid, the after-cry calm after the storm. He remembered the nights when he and Joe had camped out, looking at the stars. Joe swore he could find every constellation there was, which Adam strongly suspected was not the case.
"Joseph, you have got to stop being so reckless!" Pa had yelled at Joe for the umpteenth time two years ago. "You seem to have nine lives, yes, but not nine hundred!"
And this once, Joe had stood up and faced him. "Pa, I'll die a million deaths if I don't live life the way that I do. Everyone on this planet is either working on living or working on dying, and the way I do it means I have to take risks. Is the purpose of life really to delay death? You want me to stand up for nothing, and sit down and die in a rocker when I'm eighty? Die from my own body turning on itself? Something's got to take me out sometime, and if I go before you, don't cry for me. I got to live on my terms, or die trying."
Adam pressed his palms on his eyes. It hurt so much. He could feel a pit in his mind, his body, the "never agains" adding up. He sat up. He patted the dirt below him, grudgingly, fondly.
"But that fire was—is—what I love about you, Joe," Adam said softly. "It means I could only know you for twenty years, but what a wild twenty years it was. Right now you're skidding into heaven broadside in a cloud of smoke, asking who's up for Round 2." Adam laughed despite himself, ending in one final sob. He stood, an emptiness in his stomach that he knew would never completely go away. I'll follow your wishes, Joe, Adam thought. I'll work on living, but it will be a little less fun without you.
He walked toward his horse.