Chapter 2

Joe woke with a start to find himself in a darkened room, laid out on a comfortable bed with his boots missing and the top buttons of his shirt undone. His eyes felt dry and gritty and his throat ached like it always did following a time of tears. The pressing weight of grief choking him had not abated from where it had settled on his chest even after releasing so much of his sorrow in Pa's presence. He had no clear memory of when his pa had finally found him; all he remembered was grief and a choking fury, and then Pa's arms were around him and his fingers were stroking Joe's hair, and then sleep had overtaken him.

Weak. Alice was the one who had been beaten, but it was he who had needed solace in his father's arms. He was nothing if not weak.

Guilt and worry made him climb to his feet, his need to check on his wife overwhelming. His pa was asleep seated in one of the chairs in the room and he did his best to keep his footsteps as silent as possible as he slipped out into the hallway. The door to Doc's surgery was on the other end of the building but he was readily familiar with the layout of the rooms and needed no light to guide him.

The door was open when he reached it, allowing him to see that his wife still lay uncovered on the table, the bruises on her fair skin a horrid map of violence and abuse. Doc had washed away the blood and used ice to try and reduce the swelling to her face but she was still swollen enough to hide her delicate features.

Her chest rose and fell, which brought him a small comfort.

Her right wrist was splinted so he kneeled on the floor and took hold of her left hand, twining his fingers with hers as best as he could with the bandages wrapped around his burnt flesh. She stirred only a little before settling into silence again but he spoke aloud anyway as if she would be able to hear him.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there, sweetheart, I'm so sorry. I was supposed to be there to protect you but I wasn't..."

She stirred again uneasily and he felt her fingers tighten around his own slightly. Her lips moved.

"Alice?"

It was impossible for her to be awake, it had to be, but he watched as her head moved weakly, fighting the medication the doctor had given her. Her mouth moved again and this time, prepared to listen, he could make out a word. "Men... men."

Men. "What men, Alice?"

She whimpered. "House..."

Men at the house. Men who had beaten her and therefore killed their child. The anger he had felt dully the last few hours exploded into full flame, fueled by the fresh grief that had so paralyzed him, and his fingers compulsively tightened around hers.

If his grip hurt her she made no sign of it, no sound to let him know. Her head moved more towards him. Her voice was broken and a mere whisper as she tried to continue. "John. John.. shot..."

John? John Harper, Alice's older brother, the one who had through no intention on his part first brought Joe and Alice together. A gambler and a heavy drinker John had lost all of his money in a lengthy poker game and his behavior eventually led to Alice cutting ties with him and turning him out. The last either Joe or Alice had heard of him, he'd been settled in Carson City trying to stand on his own two feet. Was Alice delirious? A tear was sliding down her temple into her hair which he gently wiped away with his thumb. "It's all right, sweetheart." The blatant lie nearly choked him as it slipped from his mouth- nothing was all right now, and he wondered if it would actually ever truly be again. He knew Doc Martin believed that there was a chance that Alice wouldn't make it through the night. The tear in her womb had caused such a loss of blood that her skin was still cool to the touch and it could be very easy for her to slip away.

She didn't settle, despite his soothing. "Dead," she gasped out. "John-"

A shiver of suspicion made him frown as he listened. She believed her brother to be dead. But they'd found no body at the house, and they had not received prior news that John would be visiting them.

"Joe, leave her be." Doc's voice spoke softly in the darkness but there was an edge to it that begged to be heeded. "Let her rest." The few hours of sleep that Joe himself had managed to catch had done practically nothing to help him: with his wrinkled clothing, unkempt hair, and his red-rimmed eyes he struck a very sorry sight indeed. "You need to rest some more yourself, young man." The doctor felt more strongly towards Joe than he did for a lot of his other patients scattered around this city- he had been the one to deliver Joe nearly thirty-one years before and he had lost count of the numerous times he had been called upon to heal Little Joe's hurts over the intervening decades.

He had been there for all of the family's hurts, in fact. He had seen to Ben following Marie's last tragic ride, and he'd helped both Ben and Joe following Hoss's drowning only a year ago. In that time he'd seen Ben's youngest son grow from a feckless child to a rowdy, impetuous teenager, and then finally to the responsible, still happy-go-lucky young man that he was today standing as he was running the Ponderosa at his father's side.

If there was one thing, however, that had not changed at all with the years was Joe's infamous stubbornness, and he showed it as he stood from Alice's side and turned towards the open door. His mouth was set in a thin line and there was an undisguised thread of anger in his voice as he replied.

"I don't have time to rest, Doc. I've got a sheriff to see."

Clem Foster had been the deputy for Virginia City for close to seven years now and he had only just taken over the role of sheriff from Roy Coffee. He had known the Cartwrights for the same amount of time and he had grown close to Ben and his sons even if his relationship with Joe had started out rocky. With a deep sigh, Clem removed his hat and opened the door to Virginia City's jail having just come back from the Ponderosa and then the undertaker's.

"Sheriff Foster."

Clem jumped and rocked back on his heels, then slapped his hat against his leg. "Darn it, Cartwright, you know better than to startle the lawman like that!"

There was no hint of humor on Joe's face or in his voice as he replied, "There's no law that says I'm not allowed to wait for the sheriff to get back." He was seated in the chair in front of the desk, dressed in a rumpled grey shirt and pants and he looked the most unkempt Clem had ever seen him. His hands were heavily bandaged.

Clem motioned with his hat as he walked to his seat on the other side of the desk. "You're not even armed."

Briefly Joe's attention shifted to his left leg where normally his holster was tied down. "Didn't think I'd be needing this morning," he answered coldly, alluding all too clearly to what had happened that had prevented him from grabbing his firearm.

Clem sighed as he sat. "I'm sorry, Joe-"

"Don't be sorry, Clem, just tell me what you've found out."

The tone was short and angry, wanting no second wasted on sympathies. Clem took in the haggardness of Joe's face and the shadows under his eyes and found no place to argue. "The house is lost," he admitted heavily. "There was nothing we could do except keep the fire contained. Likewise there was nothing salvageable in it, either."

"You've brought something in, though, Clem. I heard a wagon."

"We found a body in the wreckage, Joe. Burnt beyond recognition but we believe it was a man. Right now I couldn't begin to tell you any possible identities-"

"I can." Realization was painted over Joe's face as he spoke. "John Harper. Alice's brother."

Startled, Clem blinked and frowned. "No one's seen him in weeks!" he protested. "What proof do you have that the body we've found is his?"

"Alice was conscious earlier today. She spoke about John. 'John shot' she said. I thought she was just out of her head but now..."

Clem digested the rather unsettling news without comment. The information on John's sister was more interesting to him now. "Is your wife...?"

"Still alive." Again the response was clipped and offered no chance for pity or apologies. There was something flinty in Joe's eyes that the sheriff did not like.

"Cartwright," he began slowly, deliberately, "if you've got any ideas of goin' after the men who did this-"

"How could I do that, Clem, when I don't even know where to start looking for them?"

"Well, don't start getting any notions about tracking anyone down. Let the law handle this." Clem's voice held a warning to it but Joe remained stone-faced and resolute. For a very long moment the two of them kept their gazes locked, seeing who would back down first, and then Joe rose from his chair.

"Thank you, Sheriff," he said tightly, and Clem could easily hear the real meaning in his words: thanks for nothing. He said nothing more and didn't respond in any way to Clem's stiff farewell, shutting the jail door closed behind him with a bit more force than necessary.

Clem sat back helplessly in his seat, abruptly drained from the conversation. Unease curled in his stomach. He had been a lawman long enough to recognize the look of a man on the warpath; he'd seen strong and level-headed men lose all sense of wisdom or common sense in the face of such awful tragedy. Too often the thirst for vengeance would lead too many of those same men straight to prison or, worse, a hangman's noose.

Joe Cartwright would easily land himself in the latter if he took matters into his own hands.

It was another twelve hours before Paul Martin declared that Alice had successfully made it through the most dangerous part of her initial recovery. The news did nothing to reassure either Joe or Ben of anything- yes, she had survived for now but there were her broken ribs and tears in her midriff that signified a long, difficult road to recovery. She was looking at almost eight weeks alone in bed for her ribs, never mind the rest of her injuries. Joe wasn't going to believe that Alice was really recovering until she looked him in the eyes and told him so himself. Ben remembered Paul's warning about the young woman's lack of strength, and he had to privately agree with the doctor. Alice was a shy, soft-spoken soul who never so much as raised her voice to call for supper, a woman who deflected attention rather than attracted it.

How would she handle the loss of her unborn child? She woke briefly but fell back into oblivion just as quickly, managing only to squeeze Joe's hand with hers before slipping away again.

Later that afternoon, once Paul assured them that Alice would be okay, Ben took Joe in the buckboard and together they rode out to the Ponderosa, following the woodland path to the lake where two tombstones rested. One was worn and old and covered partially with moss- Marie Cartwright's grave, her final resting place for nearly twenty-five years. Both father and son frequently visited the grave and visited with her, seeking solace or peace, and it was a familiar- if saddening- sight. The tombstone to Marie's left, however, still served to steal the breath from both of their lungs. The mound was still fresh and spring grass had only just begun to grow on it, and the name on the stone was painfully clear.

Looking at it now, Joe felt his throat tighten. It had been nearly a year since Hoss had died but the pain of his loss was still sharp, and there was not a day when he didn't miss his older brother.

Ben followed his gaze and sighed. "I think about the good times, son," he said softly. "Your brother's laugh, his compassion... his love for his family."

There was no reply. Joe didn't wait for his father to halt the buckboard completely- a bit unsteadily he slid to the ground and looked up at Ben. "You didn't have to come here with me."

"No one should be alone doing this, Joseph. You know that." The horses tossed their heads as he climbed down himself, watching with a heavy heart as his son grabbed hold of the same small bundle of blankets from the evening before and carried it over to the two graves there. Joe kneeled between them and softly introduced his daughter to his mother and brother, the words too quiet for Ben to hear clearly as he pulled out two shovels from the back of the wagon.

The grave they dug that day was no bigger than a foot-wide hole; there was no coffin, no service. The couple had not had a chance to announce their pregnancy, and both father and son had mutually agreed that a quiet send-off was best.

The child had not had a chance to live at all. Ben read from his well-worn Bible the verses that were customarily read at a proper Christian burial but, Heaven help him, all he could think of was one verse from Ecclesiastes: 'Yea, better is he than both they, which hath not yet been, who hath not seen the evil work that is done under the sun.'

He was concerned for Joe the most at the moment, despite Alice's severe injuries. Since last night Ben had not seen his son shed a tear at all; his expression was stoic as they worked and when finally the grave was filled he sat beside it with dry, flat eyes.

As they headed back towards Virginia City, however, leaving the lake shore behind them, Joe suddenly grabbed hold of Ben's arm. "No, Pa. I need to see it. I need to see our house." His gaze was riveted towards the direction of the glade where the little yellow house had stood and despite Ben's objections he refused to ride away without seeing it first.

The blackened husk that remained rocked Joe back physically in his seat. For a moment his expression cracked apart, revealing a flash of agonized grief, but very quickly anger drew its curtain over his hurt. Watching him, Ben recognized the rising heat in Joe's eyes, the set mouth, and realized just how much his son could hate.

"Joseph-"

"Don't, Pa." The words were sharp, a veiled warning not to interrupt the quiet moment as Joe slid down the side of the buckboard and onto solid ground once again. His steps were steady and sure as he made his way closer to the edge of the burned out ruins, walking in a slow circle around them. His attention was focused solely on the ground now, however, searching for something. Ben was just preparing to call him back so that they could leave this tragedy behind them when Joe stopped on the other side of the house and crouched there.

"Joe?" Perplexed and unsure, he climbed down from the buckboard and made his way to where his son was. Shattered glass, sprinkled a rusty red, lay there between Joe's feet.

"Alice said there were men at the house, Pa," he said quietly. "They wanted to kill her. She got out somehow, escaped... but not far. Clem said he didn't find anything confirming it when they inspected but I know this is where Alice got out. She was in our room, this was the direction it was facing." He shook his head. "She must have smashed the window, she has cuts on her wrists."

"You saw Clem?" Ben's attention was abruptly fixed on one part of Joe's statement despite the pain in his son's voice. "When?" Again there was no reply, but that was answer enough. "Joe, you need to give the sheriff time to do his job. You know it will take Clem time to find something out but you must be patient-"

"Pa, while I stand off to the side and wait for the sheriff to do anything, the men who did this are riding off free right now." Joe didn't even bother to look over at his anxious father, his attention fixed once again on the husk of the burned out house. "I don't have time to wait for Clem."

"Joseph." Ben's voice was sharp, raised in a way it hadn't been in several years. Stooping, he grabbed hold of his son by the arm and pulled him to his feet. Making sure Joe's attention was fully on him, he said, "You have gone after men before, when you believed me murdered. You did not kill then. You must promise me you will not do so now."

"Could you ask that of me, Pa," Joe retorted, "if it had been Mama who was attacked? Or if it had been Adam or Hoss or me who were killed?"

The question was like a punch to his gut, but it was not one that wholly took away his capability to speak. "I've already lost one of my sons." The words came with difficulty but he could not leave the challenge unanswered.

Ben saw it the moment the shutters came down in Joe's eyes, his stubborn nature and hot temper refusing to allow him to see reason. When Joe looked back over his shoulder at the house, Ben grabbed hold of his chin and forced him to meet his gaze again.

Joe swallowed a furious retort. "This was our home," he said in a raw voice that did not sound like his own. "Mine, and Alice's, and our baby's. We were supposed to be happy here." And wrenching himself from his father's grasp and turning unsteadily on his heel he stalked back to the waiting buckboard.