CHAPTER TWO

COMPASSION UNFORESEEN

The remainder of the day dragged on endlessly for everyone on the Ponderosa. Mundane chores were carried out with efficient speed and apathy as silence was met with occasional questions and one-word answers. The sometimes raucous, jovial ranch hands had transformed into sullen, soft-spoken men, and their whispers and compassionate glances rendered Joe speechless throughout the day. How did they know? A few of them were here last year, but would they really remember? Maybe . . . Candy! He must have told them. He overheard murmurs of concern and questions asking if anyone had managed to catch a glimpse of Ben Cartwright. Knowing that no one had seen his father all day added to the weight that compressed Joe's chest.

Cochise nickered, swinging his head from left to right as Joe rubbed his neck and shoulder. Speaking softly to the paint pony, Joe reached for a brush and with long, steady strokes, started to work on the horse's withers.

"Mr. Joe take very good care of horses," Hop Sing said, his usual, silent approach giving no warning of his presence.

Joe jerked, startled by the familiar, yet unexpected, voice. Leaning against Cochise, his forearms resting against the horse's withers, Joe shook his head and chuckled. "Hop Sing, you about scared me outta two years' growth!"

"Little Joe cannot afford so many inches!"

A slight smile drew the corners of Joe's lips upward. "Yeah, Hop Sing, I know," Joe assured as he returned his attention to the horses. Glimpses of Hop Sing as he fidgeted and darted his eyes about the barn generated an apprehension in Joe that left him full of dread. He sighed, feeling his pulse thumping against his neck. "Hop Sing," Joe said, "is there something you need?"

The obviously flustered man clasped his hands behind his back and lowered his eyes. The uncharacteristic gesture left Joe battling the lump forming in his throat. "What is it, Hop Sing?" Joe murmured.

The humble man raised his head, and Joe's breathing snagged, trapped beneath a mound of unspoken emotion.

"Hop Sing want . . . need tell Little Joe he very . . . he not know how . . . Hop Sing miss him, too. Very, very much."

Suddenly, Joe's insides crumpled. The anguish in Hop Sing's voice and the sight of his welling eyes opened the path to Joe's own release. A whimper escaped his throat as his jaw bulged and his teeth clamped together, and he watched as Hop Sing blinked, tears streaming proudly down his cheeks.

"Hop Sing go now. Dinner be ready in ten minute." He nodded, his brief glance at Joe impeding his leave. His heart ached at the face of the little boy he'd helped raise – a face now overcome with immeasurable loss. Stepping forward, Hop Sing opened his arms as Joe fell into his embrace. Holding Joe tightly, Hop Sing said a silent, ancient Chinese prayer, asking that the sadness be lifted from his family and that the hearts of those he loved dearly be healed. With a sigh, he loosened his hold on the young man. "Dinner ready in ten minute . . . I no go back China if you there in fifteen."

Joe stared through blurred eyes as Hop Sing turned and shuffled across the yard and into the side kitchen door. Although he never doubted Hop Sing's loyalties to the Cartwright family, Joe realized that sometimes, he overlooked the love that existed between them.

Hop Sing, hired when Ben realized his dream of homesteading on the Ponderosa Pine-covered wilderness, played an essential role in the childhoods of Adam and especially, Hoss. Though what little English he spoke at that time was broken and difficult to understand, Hop Sing discovered ways of interacting with Ben's young sons that left the boys enriched beyond measure. Years later, when Ben married Marie, Hop Sing was sincerely elated by the thought of another child in 'his' house. The adjustment of sharing that third child with two parents instead of one proved trying for the Cartwright's live-in houseman. Adam and Hoss's genuine affection for their newborn brother quickly eased the tension between mother and surrogate, and Hop Sing assumed the role of unofficial 'uncle' to the boys. On that horrific day when Marie died, it was Hop Sing who comforted the boys while Ben grieved his unfathomable loss, and in the weeks that followed, it was Hop Sing who supplied the stability that Ben found impossible to provide.

And now, years later, as Hop Sing entered the dining room, one hand balancing a small tray of pork chops, the other, a small bowl of mashed potatoes, he sighed as he glanced at the table set for two. His mind sped through time, summoning scenes from the thirty-one celebrations he'd been a part of, and his heart grieved for the thirty-second birthday that would have been celebrated that evening. After resting the tray and bowl atop the tatted tablecloth, Hop Sing shambled into the living room and announced the evening meal. "Dinner leady, Mr. Cartwright."

"Thank you, Hop Sing," was Ben's detached reply.

"Little Joe finish up in barn. He come in minute."

Hop Sing watched as Ben nodded, rose stiffly from his chair, and made his way to the table. Twice that day, he'd been on the verge of expressing his feelings to Ben, just as he'd done to Joe earlier in the barn. In truth, Hop Sing not only respected Ben, but loved him deeply. Despite those feelings, presenting himself with his emotions on display was more inappropriate than sharing his grief with the boss's son. Instead, Hop Sing turned and scurried to the kitchen, returning with the small, silver coffee pot, the sugar bowl, and Marie's delicate, pink cream pitcher.

As he poured Ben's coffee, the click of the front door's latch signaled Joe's entry into the house. After removing his gun belt and laying it atop the credenza, he removed his hat and hung it on the hat rack next to his father's. Two empty pegs caught his eye, and he chastised himself for not acknowledging those same pegs each and every time he slung his hat into place. A burdensome sigh escaped his lungs as he pictured four hats on the rack, and as he turned toward the dining room, the sight of two gun belts where once there were four brought a tingle to his nose and eyes.

Keep it together, Joe! The day's nearly over. Keep it together for Pa! "Hi, Pa," Joe said as he quickly took his seat at the dining table. "The horses are all tucked in for the night."

"Good."

Joe raised his fork and stabbed at a pork chop on the tray. He accepted the bowl of potatoes from his father and received a simple nod for his polite thanks. Green beans, gravy, and the sugar bowl were passed, all with the same minimal niceties from the man seated at the head of the table. The remainder of the meal was spent in silence except for Hop Sing's welcome interruption when he added a small plate of fresh baked bread to the offerings. As Joe poured his third cup of coffee, his father slid his empty plate toward the center of the table, blotted the corners of his mouth with his white, linen napkin, and folded his hands together atop the hand-made tablecloth. Joe sipped his coffee and peered at his father from over the top of his cup. He recognized Ben's gestures, and knew that his father was about to broach a difficult subject.

"Joseph," Ben said, "I owe you an apology. I've . . . I've wasted today, and the past few days leading up to this day, by refusing to share my . . . grief with the people who are mourning just as I am."

"Pa . . ."

"Let me finish, please, son. It's been three months. Three months since Hoss . . . since he was lost to us. And today, of all days, I should have been there for you and for Hop Sing and for Candy. But most importantly, I should have been there for you. I'm sorry that I allowed myself to be lost so deep in my own sadness that I . . ."

"Pa," Joe said, reaching for his father's hand, "I know, and it's all right."

Ben grasped Joe's hand tightly between both of his.

"Thank you, son."

Joe nodded, and gently squeezed his father's hands.

When a soft voice spoke up, both Ben and Joe turned to see Candy standing, hat in hand, next to the settee.

"I'm sorry to intrude," Candy said softly, his eyes downcast. "I guess you didn't hear me come in. I, uh, I can leave if you'd like."

"No, please, Candy, come in," Ben insisted as Joe slipped his hand from Ben's grasp. "Would you like something to eat?"

"No, sir," Candy replied nervously, turning his hat in his hands. "I've already eaten . . . with the hands. Uh, that's why I came in," he continued as he sat next to Joe at the table. "They asked me to . . . well, I said I would come in and . . ."

"What is it, Candy?" Ben asked.

"Well, sir, they, uh . . . they asked me to tell you that, well, that they all miss Hoss, a lot. And that they think about him, a lot. And well . . . they wanted you to know that tonight, we all shared stories about Hoss at dinner in the bunkhouse. A lot of stories. And, well, it didn't make us miss him any less, but it did make us smile a little to remember him. And, well, that's all, I guess."

Ben choked back the lump in his throat, and Joe's chin quivered as he looked away.

Together, they sat in silence, each one remembering the gentle man who'd died three months ago; the son, the brother, and the friend who on that day would have shared the celebration of his thirty-second birthday.

From the hallway, Hop Sing stood leaning against the wall, paying his own unspoken tribute to the chubby little baby who'd grown before his eyes into a giant of a man.

The reverence of the moment was lost as the latch of the front door clicked and clanged. The sudden, slight breeze that danced like feathers across their skin twirled and dipped until a shudder ran through all four men. Time seemed trapped, forced to press against the air, as if every movement was an action in slow motion. Joe glanced at his father before looking at Candy, and together, the three men stood as one as Hop Sing wandered in from the kitchen hallway. Slowly, as they turned in tandem to face the opened front door, a voice pierced the air with such familiarity that the weight of time was released from them all.

"Hi, Pa. I'm home."