"Chapter 2"
"He'll be all right in time," Paul stated in the silence. The stairs beneath his weight creaked sharply as he descended from the second level of the ranch house; its piercing sound was aggravating to his waiting audience.
Ben, pacing worriedly in front of the cold fireplace, stopped abruptly at the doctor's words. He was drawn and pale, far less like the Ben Cartwright that Paul was familiar with; his white hair was askew and a day's worth of stubble shadowed his jaw. "He's fine?" he demanded hoarsely, meeting the doctor at the bottom of the steps. Jamie was standing up from the seat he had taken, relief stark in his expression.
Paul was grateful that he had no tragic news to tell this shattered family— the news he did have, however, was awful enough. If Joe had died… Paul shuddered to think what that would have done to his old friend. "He'll be fine," he corrected, emphasizing the future tense. "That barbed wire… ever since that confounded fence has sprung up in these parts I've had to patch and stitch up more cuts and fight more infection than I have before." The frustration and disgust lacing his voice told all too well what his exact thoughts were about it. "The barbs have at least a few inches between them on the wire and Joe was fortunate enough to land in the space between them so that his back wasn't as shredded as I've seen possible. It's good that you and Andy and Jamie lifted him up straight off of the fence— trying to move him alone would have torn him up more than he is."
"Is he awake?"
Paul hesitated, and that was all the answer Ben needed; the anxious father's expression darkened with dismay and regret when the doctor voiced aloud what Joe had said:
"He doesn't want company right now."
Joe had always been the son who when injured or sick wanted— and practically demanded— company while he was laid up in bed. There had never been a time when he hadn't wanted the presence of his father there beside him. To know that he had decided to nurse his hurts in private now hurt.
Paul knew the blow he had just delivered but could do nothing to rectify it, knowing the pain was shared between a father and son. All he could do now was leave some medicine for his patient. "I've given him an injection of painkiller to allow him to rest. His back is bandaged and will need to be redressed tomorrow. His arm was worse than his back and that's what I'm most concerned about right now, but so far I've wrapped it and I didn't see any blood staining the cloth when I left. Keep an eye on it until I come back up."
Numb, Ben thanked his old friend on auto-pilot and barely realized that he was showing Paul to the door. When finally the latch clicked shut and the doctor's wagon drew away he turned helplessly towards the open living room, his throat tight and painful.
The ride back to the ranch and the three-hour wait for Paul had been agonizing. It had taken the three of them, Ben, Jamie, and Andy, to lift Joseph off of the bared wire, Ben at his head, Andy at his torso, and Jamie lifting his legs; the entire time Joe didn't so much as twitch, and the stains of blood on his sleeve and back had grown. Transferring him to the blanket that had been brought from the buckboard they wrapped him up securely before placing him stomach-down in the back. It was when they had to wrap his bleeding right arm that he had stirred, gasping in pain, and for just a moment Ben had seen Joe's green eyes glazed with pain and confusion looking back at him, but he had made no response to his father's pleading and had quickly slipped into darkness again.
He hadn't woken again since they had brought him to the Ponderosa. They had called Paul Martin to the ranch house and had been shooed out of the room when the doctor appeared.
"I've handled Joe's injuries for the last thirty years, Ben. Let me treat him alone for now. I'll be down after I've finished." Paul had no wish for his old friend to see the injuries that the barbed wire could— and probably had— caused to Joe's back, and he ushered the anxious father out the door and closed it soundly behind him.
Dear God, how much more could this family take? The loss of Hoss had not even begun to heal and they were forced to deal with this.
Joe had come awake as the doctor finished up wrapping his arm. The sutures made by the barbs were deep and painful, stark red gashes that didn't want to stop bleeding, but they were luckily not so bad as Paul had first feared; the doctor was only concerned now with the possibility of blood poisoning. Hopefully not enough dirt or rust had entered the wounds to cause infection.
"Easy, son." Paul gently pressed down on Joe's shoulder, keeping his patient still enough to finish with the gauze. He caught sight of dazed green eyes looking at him through wayward curls and knew already that he was going to be bombarded with questions.
The first was expected. "What happened?" Joe croaked hoarsely. He was looking around at his room as if unable to comprehend anything that had led him there.
Paul straightened, washing his hands. "You had an accident up in the pastures," he explained. "It appears you fought a barbed wire fence and lost."
"Tree fell." Joe attempted to move as memory started to resurface, hissing in a breath and freezing as the movement pulled at the wounds in his back. Worry was taking over confusion and he looked at Paul beseechingly. "Jamie?"
Hop Sing had mentioned that Jamie had been the one with Joe during the incident. Of course the latter would be concerned. "He's fine, Joe. Shaken seeing you thrown the way you were but he managed to come and fetch help when he needed to. He'll be much better knowing you're awake."
He was taken aback to see tears suddenly appear in Ben's son's eyes. Joe swallowed hard but his voice was still shaky as he spoke aloud: "I was terrified, Doc. Bleeding bad. I couldn't move. Jamie tried to help… he couldn't."
"It's alright to admit you were scared, Joe," Paul told him gently. "But you're going to be fine now, Jamie got you help—"
"I didn't want him to see it happen if I…" And Joe's voice cracked sharply before he could finish the sentence, the words very seeming to click on his teeth before they could escape. But of course he didn't need to complete the thought. "And Hoss…"
Paul hadn't learned the details of Hoss's drowning until much later, and it hadn't been around any of the Cartwrights. It had been the foreman Andy who had drawn Paul aside after one of his daily visits to the ranch that first week and explained about the early morning downpour that had caused the river the cattle drive had rested beside to flood its banks. Currents had been incredibly strong beneath the surface and one of the hands had somehow managed to fall in.
Hoss had gone in after him without hesitation; neither man had reached the banks alive.
And Joe had been there forced to watch it all.
Of course he would have been terrified of making Jamie go through what Joe himself had only just had to witness: the death of an older brother.
"He didn't have to, son. Jamie will be fine. And I daresay you'll be up and about within days contrary to my direct orders." Paul was heartened when his very accurate statement brought about a small smile. "Now, your pa's been worried about you, so I think it would be a good idea for him to come up and see you—"
"No."
The sharp answer brought the doctor to an astonished halt. "Joe—"
"I can't see him now. Please, Paul. Don't let Pa come up."
It had been the doctor who had patched up the gash on Joe's forehead only the day before and he knew the circumstances for it. Joe's tongue had been surprisingly loose that day in Paul's office and he'd finally admitted his fear of Ben's incessant drinking and refusals to sleep. He had confessed he didn't know how to break his father out of the grief of Hoss's death and was afraid he'd lose Ben, too. But he was unable to express that to the father who had so alienated himself.
It hurt, that realization.
But Paul was beholden to the wishes of his patients when they were of sound mind. He shook his head sadly but agreed. "Give it time, Joe. That's all you can do. You and your father love each other too much to let this destroy you both."
~/~/~/~/~
Silently Ben stole into the dark bedroom, wincing when the door creaked warningly in his ears. It seemed much too loud in the quiet. He kept a hopeful ear out for a call for him from Joe but so far in two days' time he had not heard it. For now he had to sneak into his son's room in early morning to sit beside Joe while the latter lay sleeping, and he left before the sun began to rise.
The separation was taking its toll.
Ben wanted his family together. All of them. He wanted his eldest Adam to be here by his side instead of hundreds of miles away. He wanted his youngest to speak to him again, to forgive Ben for his actions.
He wanted Hoss alive.
But it didn't do to dwell on wishes. Dreams were a figment of a longing heart. He had lost, and lost again, several times over and he was a foolish old man. The Ponderosa hadn't been enough to keep Adam here and Hoss was gone forever. He was afraid that he had just lost whatever love and respect Joe held for him.
Walking up to the edge of his bed he lit the lamp that sat there and blinked in the sudden flare of light. He frowned.
Sitting there innocently on the table was his worn copy of the Bible. But he had left it on his desk downstairs over a week ago— in his shock and then subsequent drinking he had almost forgotten about the Good Book. The words written in it had once been his source of strength and encouragement but now tasted like ash in his mouth and bittered his tongue. He didn't remember carrying the book up with him. Carefully he reached out a hand and picked it up, weighing it in his grip, and he was taken aback by how comfortable its familiar weight felt.
He had prayed to the Lord to let Joseph live. The Lord had done so. Joe was mending and Paul was certain that the risk of infection was nil. Ben's son would be on his feet sooner rather than later, and for that the father was grateful.
A small tremble shuddered its way down his back as he looked around, looking for some clue as to how his Bible had ended up here. But there was nothing.
Don't waste the years you got left.
Abruptly Ben realized that Hoss wasn't really gone. He was still within the Lord's grasp, and he had visited Ben only a few nights before. The Lord kept all those who were within His arms and death did nothing to change that.
Hoss was okay. Now Ben needed to make sure that the rest of his family would be, too. God had made Man with strength and faith and wanted His children to show those qualities in the most difficult of times.
He needed to confront the bitterness and loss head-on in order to live. And Ben would need to start with Joseph.
Looking up he stared at the ceiling. "Thank you," he whispered, both to God and his son, and he kept hold of the Bible as he turned away from his bed and walked back out into the hallway.
Joe's door was partially closed but it was enough for Ben to sidle carefully through so that it didn't creak open. In the darkness he could barely make out the bed but time and familiarity led Ben surely to its side without trouble, and he found that the chair beside it was empty. Clearly both Hop Sing and Jamie— Joe's caregivers in the past two days— had decided to sleep in their own beds tonight. That suited Ben just fine. He wasn't entirely sure whether he could actually have the conversation he needed to with his son just when it was the two of them; he knew that with an audience, no matter how small, it would be impossible. He lit a match and the lamp beside the bed flared to life, low and soft.
Joe's even, slow breathing let Ben know that he was asleep. Hopefully without nightmares. With a low groan and creaking knees he sat down as softly as he could on the chair, placing the Bible's solid weight on his lap for reassurance. The quiet darkness and the proximity of Joe leant him enough peace to gather himself and find the strength he needed.
Joe's shifting drew Ben away from his thoughts, hearing his son's sharp intake of breath signifying that he had been surprised awake. From the darkness Ben heard his son ask in a voice rough with sleep, "Hoss?"
The question was a knife to the waiting father's gut. Would it ever grow any easier to hear his middle son's name without wanting to cry? He reminded himself forcibly of Hoss's words from a few days' ago and shook his head even though he knew Joe wouldn't be able to see it. "It's Pa."
There was no answer. The silence was more intimidating than if Joe had demanded Ben to leave. It broke Ben's tenuous control. He wanted to reach forward and grab hold of his hand but didn't dare.
"Please, Joseph. Talk to me. It's been two days. I need… to know how you're doing." When he still didn't receive a reply he pressed a little harder, determined. "We need to speak of- of Hoss. Of what this has done to us. Please, Joe, I need you to speak to me." It was hard to push out those words. Even harder when still there was no answer. He bowed his head, struggling to keep sudden tears from falling.
"Pa…"
Ben, hardly daring to hope, looked up to find that Joe's hand had come to rest on top of his own, the bandages rough on his skin. His son was watching him tiredly through half-lidded eyes, his mouth tight with pain— but he was awake, and willing now to acknowledge his father's presence.
"Joseph." Ben wrapped his hands around Joe's and lifted it gently to his mouth, his eyes moist as the tears turned to ones of relief. "Is the pain any better, son?"
Trying to swallow past a dry throat, Joe managed a small nod. "Bit," he said hoarsely. Lying there unable to hide behind his actions, Ben suddenly realized that his son had lost a significant amount of weight in a short amount of time, and there was noticeable grey in his hair. Hoss's death and Joe's struggle to keep himself and his father from completely falling apart had done this. Unable to abandon the father who had fallen to pieces following the drowning, Joe had put aside his own grief and tried to keep Ben from withering away, and those suppressed emotions were eating him from within.
Hoss had told Ben so. He had said so specifically the other need that there was the need to forgive on both sides, and Ben hadn't understood what he had meant. But now he did. There was no way any of them could truly move on until they lanced and drained the wounds that had been gouged into being.
The father could only pray that he had the strength to admit his sin.
Ultimately, however, it was Joe who made the first move. The youngest son of Ben Cartwright's blood had always been his most emotional son, easiest to anger, fastest to react, but he had also been the one never able to hold onto those emotions for long. Forgiveness and apology came naturally to him.
Now was no exception. He didn't want to remain at odds with and angry at his father. "I'm sorry, Pa," he whispered. "About what I said… in the barn. I don't- I'm not angry anymore."
Ben managed a smile even as he swallowed past a lump in his throat. His remarkable son. "You don't need to apologize, Joseph. I know you meant those words, but you're still willing to work past them." It was hard to speak now, but it had to be done. He prayed for strength and lowered Joe's hand to the mattress. "But I have something I must tell you, Joe. It's- it's not something I will ever forgive myself for feeling, but— Hoss was right, you've begun to forgive me for my unforgivable actions, and now… now I must do the same." Oh Lord, what was he doing? A solitary tear escaped his hold; grief and self-loathing twisted his expression as he choked out the awful truth. "A part of me blamed you for your brother's death, Joseph. I wondered why you hadn't done more to try and save him. My own son— dear God, how could I blame one for the other? But I did, Joe— I did!" And finally the floodgates opened and Ben hid his face in the sheets of the bed and wept.
A soft, gentle touch on the crown of his head slowly stilled his grief; fingers were stroking his hair, an old calming tactic Ben himself had utilized with all of his sons at one point or another. Looking up, hardly daring to hope, he raised his head up to find Joe watching him with tear-filled eyes, his hand never ceasing its stroking of his father's hair. "I know," he said shakily. "I know you did, Pa— but I blamed myself more. But when I was visiting Mama's grave the other night I realized that she'd died in a freak accident like Hoss did. Nothing coulda stopped it from happening. Not for either of them."
The realization of the truth in his son's statement was overwhelming. Ben was momentarily stunned, unable to speak or reply; his grip tightened compulsively around the spine of the Good Book. "I know," he whispered, gripping the hand stroking his hair and entwining his fingers with Joe's. "I know that now. I think I knew that all the time. And I'm sorry, son. Truly… I'm sorry."
Joe shook his head. "You were hurting."
"Be ye angry," Ben said aloud, the well-remembered verse flowing easily from his mouth, "and sin not. Let not the sun go down upon your wrath."
Inexplicably Joe began to laugh— albeit quietly and a mite breathlessly as the stitches in his back pulled— but it was a sound that pulled Ben up short. Neither of them had laughed in such a long time. "Hoss would be knockin' our heads together," he finally explained to his father's confusion, "tellin' us we're bein' stubborn—"
"Bone-headed mules," Ben finished with his son, and he felt a smile of his own start to pull at his mouth. The humor was there, and it was real, and their shared amusement did what nothing else had; it started to heal the rift that had formed between them.
Yes, indeed. Hoss was watching over them even now.
~/~/~/~/~
The waters at Lake Tahoe were quiet. The air was heavy with the scent of the ponderosa pines, and the wind blew warm and inviting as Ben and Joe rode up to the familiar bluff overlooking the waters. Leaving Buck and Cochise standing ground-tied several feet behind them father and son walked the remaining distance to the familiar marker of Marie Cartwright's grave.
Beside it there lay a second, newer stone that sat vigil over a still-bare mound of dirt.
Ben grabbed hold of Joe's arm when he felt the latter hesitate. His touch was gentle but still Joe startled, having almost forgotten that his father was standing beside him. He was certain that his father had not been here since the funeral, and he was also sure that Ben had been so despondent during it that he retained no memories of when Hoss's body was laid to rest.
"Go on, Pa," he said softly. "I'll be right here."
It had been by his urging that Ben had made this trip down here. He had saddled the horses; he had seen Jamie off to school. Perhaps Joe was being selfish but he wanted this time spent between just him and his father and the one they loved so much. Ben needed to say goodbye.
They all did.
Ben, for his part, tried to slow his pounding heart. He knew he needed to do this, he needed to face this final farewell, but he was feeling abruptly frightened and even abandoned when he realized that Joe would not walk with him the remaining few feet. But of course Joseph had already been down here; he had no need to face this grave today. Feeling unsteady he let go of his son's arm (the left arm, since the right was still lightly bandaged) and forced his feet to move.
He knelt silently beside the grave, reaching out a tentative hand out to the cool stone of the marker. In bold letters he sat the name Eric 'Hoss' Cartwright' carved there and he felt tears choke him. But he fought them back, knowing that his middle son was in a good place— a place even better than the Ponderosa itself. There was hope. Even now he knew that there was that, and he would try to remember it always.
As if in answer he felt the wind shift, blowing gently in his direction, and as if in his thoughts he heard heavy, familiar footsteps to his left.
"Hoss."
His son smiled down at him. "'Lo, again, Pa." He was standing a fair distance away from his father still, but he was close enough for Ben to see that he had changed since the night a couple of weeks ago; his clothes were drying, and his wispy dark blonde hair was no longer plastered to his head. His familiar gap-toothed grin was clear to see. "Little brother finally convinced you to come down, then." He held up a hand hastily when Ben began to speak. "Now, Pa, I know what yer gonna say. It's alright. Don't feel guilty no more, Pa. You know neither Joe or me hold these past few weeks 'gainst you. Anyways, I'm almost dry and that's relief enough." There was true laughter in his tone as he spoke those last few words and Ben drew heart from that.
"Will you- be all right now, son?" he asked instead.
Hoss nodded. "Fine, Pa. Jus' fine. You and Little Joe and Jamie— you'll get through it all together. I'm gonna go and find Ma."
Inger. The mother Hoss had never known. Marie. The one he remembered and the one he loved so much. Both would be waiting for him. Elizabeth would be there, too. Ben swallowed hard but he found that his tears had abruptly vanished. They would be back, he knew, and at the oddest moments, but for now he was able to find peace. "Thank you, son."
Hoss knew all of what he was saying in those three words. His grin widened. "Can't leave you and Joe to knock yer heads together like two billy goats. You know how much me and Joe and Jamie care about you, Pa."
"I know." He did. Those three words were the hardest ever spoken— I love you— but he had never had to hear them aloud to know that they were true. Abruptly his sorrow turned to joy.
Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.
The familiar verse of the Good Book had never rung more true than in this moment. The Lord was in control, and His ways were always good. Ben had been given the chance to say goodbye to his son; the Lord had allowed the rift between him and Joseph to be mended.
He could truly give thanks now. And when he wept it would not be in bitter anger. He would be grateful for every second he had been blessed being Hoss Cartwright's earthly father, and he would bear his loss silently and patiently until the time came for them all to be gathered together again.
That was, after all, the Lord's way.
~/~/~/~/~
The grave at Lake Tahoe lay undisturbed and quiet forever afterwards except for those of Hoss's family came; Hoss himself never reappeared again, but slept free from the river and in his mother's arms.