Chapter Two

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Ben Cartwright sat in his great room sipping a cup of excellent coffee. He'd opened the shutters on the window behind the dining room table to let the light in and been surprised to find the yard covered by several inches of snow. His thoughts went instantly to Joe, wondering if his son was all right. Then, he dismissed those thoughts just as quickly. Joseph was nearly thirty-two now, more than a young man if not quite a middle-aged one, and his son was well aware of the dangers on the road and how to keep himself warm on an unexpectedly cold night.

Ah, yes, there was the 'rub' as Adam would have put it.

Unexpectedly.

As was often the case, especially this time of year, the older man's gaze went to the table before the fire and its empty surface. For a year now the checkerboard had been missing. It was one of the first things Joseph had removed after his brother's death. He had no idea what his son had done with it. That checkerboard was as much a part of Hoss and Joe's relationship as their outrageous escapades and hard, side-by-side work. The pair had been nearly inseparable since Joe's birth. He remembered well that first day when he had opened the door to welcome Little Joe's brothers into the birthing room for a first look. Hoss had nearly bowled him over in his excitement to see his baby brother. Adam had been more reticent, as he always was, fearful too love too much for fear of loss.

What an irony that, in the end, his oldest had chosen to lose himself.

By six, Hoss was already reaching toward his older brother's height. At birth his middle son, Eric, had weighed more than twice what Joseph did. Both he and Marie had feared that the boy would be frightened he would hurt his little brother. Instead, they had marveled as Hoss, with his huge hands, took the baby from Marie and hushed his crying. As had been the pattern of his life, Joseph had entered it complaining that things weren't moving fast enough or going his way. Marie, exhausted, was at her wit's end. Hoss had cradled the crying child close to his chest and begun to speak quietly, as he would to an injured horse or fallen bird, and – slowly – Joseph had calmed. All their lives Hoss had been able to calm his baby brother when he was angry, or sullen and tired. Hoss was Joe's tether.

A tether that had been absent for a year now.

Ben took another sip of his coffee and then placed the cup on the table in lieu of the game board. It had happened so fast. No one would have thought – or could have believed – that morning that Joe would come home broken in body and spirit and that Hoss – Inger's Eric – would never come home again. They had gathered at the table for breakfast. Hop Sing had been at his finest. Both Joe and Hoss' birthdays were drawing near and with a wink the Chinese man announced he had decided to practice for their upcoming parties by fixing their favorite foods. That was a part of it, but they all knew as well that a long, hard day awaited the two of them. It had been a particularly wet autumn. There were mudslides and rock falls everywhere. Most of them had happened in inconsequential places and, though the damage to the trees would set them back some years, at least no one's life had been lost. Joe and Hoss were set to ride out and survey the damage to their property when a knock came at the door. How the man knew to come to them he had never learned. Somehow the stranger knew of Joe's connection to Carrie Pickett and had sought him out. Ben smiled. Of course, half of Virginia City as well as most of their ranch hands knew about Joe and Carrie. There were jokes – respectful ones – about his son's love for the old woman. Joe rode out a few times each year to check on her and, so far, the older woman was holding her own. She was well over sixty now and slowing down, but every time Joe returned with a grin on his face and stories of the rows he and the she had enjoyed.

Carrie, in a way, had come to fill the shoes of Joe's absent mother.

And so when Joe heard that there had been a massive rock fall near her home, he had to go. His brother quickly offered to go with him, shooting down any misgivings he might have had with a simple – 'Joe and me was goin' that way anyhow, Pa. We'll check on Miss Carrie and then go on about our business.' No amount of pleading could change either sons' mind and so, in the end, he had given up.

And regretted doing so every day since.

No. No, he didn't. If both brothers had not gone, Joe would be dead.

Ben frowned. His hand went to the bridge of his nose and pinched it.

Joe or Hoss?

How could he have made such a choice?

Lowering his hand, the rancher stared at the door to his home. He could see the two of them putting on their hats and coats – Joe anxious, short-tempered; his mind already a day's ride away with the older woman. Hoss, smiling, taking his little brother's guff in stride as he always did with big hands, bigger steps, and the biggest heart.

With a sigh Ben rose and walked to the door, following them in his mind as they left that day, opening it and walking into the yard and heading for the barn. As he neared it, he recalled the conversation he had had with Hoss as his son checked the wagon's wheels and prepared to mount into the driver's seat.

'Are you sure you want to go, Hoss?' he'd asked him. 'From what Dave said, Carrie should be fine. Joe just has to see for himself.'

His son's crystal blue eyes had flicked to his brother who was leading Cochise out of the stable. 'I gotta go, Pa. You know Joe. If there's any danger, he'll throw himself right into it as sure as plungin' into the rapids without a rope.'

They'd shared a chuckle. Hoss knew his brother well. 'You've taken good care of him, son, from the day he was born,' he'd replied. 'Thank you for that.'

Hoss ducked his head in that way he had. 'Aw shucks, Pa. I couldn't live if somethin' happened to that little scamp. You know that.' Then, his middle son had said something odd. To this day he had no idea what it meant. 'I got me a hankerin' to see them Piney Woods too. You know, Pa, a long time ago... Well, I think I left somethin' there. Somethin', I should of gone back for.'

Ben dropped onto a bale of hay and stared at his son's big Black. Chubb was still in mourning as much as he and Joe. Sitting there, he thought again of Hoss' words. Something he left? Something he should have gone back for? At the time he'd thought Hoss was speaking of something that had happened the day they'd ridden hard to Carrie Pickett's home, arriving just in time to save Joe from a beating – or worse.

Now, he wasn't so sure.

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Joe Cartwright shifted.

It was a stupid thing to do.

Pain exploded in his head and along the left side of his body. He closed his eyes and held his breath as he waited for the assault to end. It didn't, but it fell off to a lingering siege. Gingerly, Joe let the breath out and shifted again, which made him moan, which brought in turn a soft spoken...

"Mister?"

One eye opened while the other squinted in protest of the action. Joe sucked in a breath and then made it heave-to and open as well. His vision was fuzzy and he couldn't make much out. He was fairly certain he wasn't outside. Everything around him looked brown – well, brown spotted with a watercolor wash of colors. There was a vague light spilling in through a square opening, so he figured he must be in the cabin and the sun was up.

And the fuzzy face hanging over him must be Rick.

"Mornin'," he managed.

"Whew! You sure scared me. Last night you was out of your head yellin' all kinds of crazy things." A hand came to rest on his forehead. "The fever ain't gone."

Joe narrowed his eyes, trying to bring Rick into focus. From the round shape of his face and the wide eyes in it, he guessed his rescuer was a youth and not a man as his size indicated. Lucky for him that he was a big feller, or he would have still been lyin' out there in the snow.

"Hurt," he replied, and then tried again. "Left side hurts. Did you...?"

"I cleaned everythin' out that I could. Ma left some alcohol and bandages, just in case. A couple of pain powders too. You want one?"

Joe considered it seriously. Then he shook his head. He had to figure out where he was and who the youth was and – more importantly – how to get word to his father that he was alive.

Of all the times of year to go missing!

"Rick, is there any way...you can get word out –"

The youth – hasty as the young were – cut him of. "Ain't no one around, Mister. Just you and me, and I can't leave you alone long enough to go to the settlement. You're hurt real bad. You might..."

Die. That was what Rick was thinking.

Joe closed his eyes. What an irony. One day past when Hoss...passed...and he might die less than a mile away from where it happened.

Feebly, he reached out to touch the boy's flannel-sleeved arm. "I'm...not going to die," he said with a forced smile. "Too damn stubborn."

The boy laughed.

Good. That's what he was trying for.

"Are you hungry?" Rick asked. "I got me some eggs left from breakfast."

Joe's stomach rolled at the thought. He shook his head. "Is that coffee I smell?"

"Yes, sir. You want some?"

It took its time to work through his muddled brain, but suddenly Joe realized he'd forgotten to introduce himself. Imagine that.

Dropping his hand from the boy's sleeve, he said, "Call me Joe. My pa is 'sir'."

"You live with your pa?"

Joe was fading. He lifted one eyelid to look at Rick. The boy's face was a tiny bit clearer. He thought he might have red hair. His eyes were pale, but his vision was too screwed up to guess the color.

"Sure, I live with my pa. Have all my life."

"You ain't married or nothin'? No kids?"

It was natural for the young man to be curious, and just as natural for him to want to talk about anything else.

"No," he muttered and then added, only half-faking it. "Need to sleep."

Rick jumped up. "Sorry, Mister...Joe. Sorry. I didn't mean to keep you awake." He paused. "You still want that coffee?"

"Later," Joe mumbled.

"I'll keep it hot."

Joe waved his good hand in thanks and then drifted of to sleep.

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Rick waited until the older man was asleep and then stepped out of the house and gazed up at the sky. It was somethin' his ma had taught him to do. 'A man can't get too big for his britches if he looks at the sky. Keeps him humble. Let's him know how small he is,' she used to say.

He sure missed her.

The boy's head shook as his eyes dropped to the ground. The snow was almost gone, melted off by the rising light. God's ways sure were funny. The man inside was hurt bad, but most likely he could have walked right up to the house and asked for help if it hadn't been for the snow and the cold. Or maybe just got back up on his horse and rode home. He was tough-lookin', like a cowboy or miner, and he supposed he could survive an awful lot. From all the scars on him it looked like he already had! He was sure glad Joe'd been unconscious when he had to pull his shirt and pants off of him. His left side was a mess. It looked like a boulder or somethin' had rolled right over him. His leg was broken on that side and he wasn't too sure about his arm. There were a couple of ribs caved in too, but it was the knock on the head the wounded man had taken that worried him the most. He'd hit his head like that once and the doctor'd been scared he wouldn't be all right. He knew he had to wake Joe up every hour or so just to make sure he could.

Right now he sure wished Ma hadn't chosen to live so far outside of civilization, back in a holler where nobody knew where they was.

Ma didn't like people. She said she was tired of bein' made fun of and laughed at, and so she chose to live with the animals 'cause they didn't care if she could hear or not. From the time he was born it was just the two of them and so he'd never thought nothin' of it. It was just the way she was. He always had to be sure she was lookin' at him when he wanted her to hear what he was sayin'.

Rick snorted. It was kind of fun that he could say things when she wasn't lookin' that she couldn't hear!

Ma was real close too, about where she come from and who her folks were and such. She was even closer about his pa. Almost like Pa was a bank robber or somethin'. She said once that he came from a good family, which kind of did away with his outlaw theory, and that his pa had other 'responsibilities'.

Responsibilities. Somethin' other than takin' care of his ma and him.

He wondered what they was.

With a sigh, Rick picked up the bucket on the stoop. Stepping off of the porch, he headed for the water barrel. It'd be full of nice clean, cold water from the snow-melt. Joe was gonna need it. He'd seen his ma through enough fevers, and had them himself, to know the worst was yet to come. He'd done his best with what he had to clean out Joe's wounds, but was afraid it wasn't enough. It was autumn and the ground was covered with bright orange, red, and yellow leaves . Underneath that pretty blanket was a lot of rot. It was good for the trees and grass, but not so good for an injured man.

As he turned back, the dawning light struck the small structure Rick called home. It was sturdily built; strong enough to withstand winds and torrential rains, snow, and the heat of the summer. His Ma told him his pa had helped her make it strong before he left, wanting to make sure she'd be all right. He'd asked her once why he never came back and she said it was because she told him not to. She wouldn't have him waste his life takin' care of no cripple. Ma always called herself that. She weren't no cripple. Leastways, not physically. She could do everythin' except hear.

And, it seemed to him, live.

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Hop Sing shake head as he reach for potato. For the last day he bury himself in kitchen work. It too painful to see Mistah Ben alone in house that once was filled with the laughter and shouts of three mischievous and much loved boys. The omens had not been good when Mistah Adam chose to leave. An ill wind blew, bringing with it much sorrow. Like a crouching dragon, tragedy waited to strike and when it did, the dragon's fire nearly burned all away, taking with it Little Joe's wife and child and Mistah Hoss.

The man from China paused in his chopping to wipe away a tear. He glanced at the shrine he kept in the kitchen, tucked in a nook between two cupboards. For many long years Missy Marie watch him from there as he care for the ones she love. Her beautiful face stare at him from its nest of seasonal flowers and bits of silk taken from the beautiful scarves she once place around home. Beside it lay another shrine. This one hold the photo kindly given to him by Mistah Ben of number two son. Letting his knife fall to the cutting block, Hop Sing cleaned his hands on his apron and then walked over to look at it. Mistah Hoss smile as always; his big face reflecting bigger heart. Photo hand-painted. Color of Mistah Hoss' hair right, but no paint could be as blue as his bright and loving eyes.

Each day, every hour, Mistah Hoss and Missy Cartwright watch over him and those who come into his kitchen. He keep pictures hidden between cupboards because number three son cannot bear to look at them.

Number three son blame himself for number two son's death.

With a sigh, Hop Sing returned to the chopping block and sank down in the chair beside it, allowing himself a moment more for thought. How well he remember. Day and night wind howl like Feng Hao angry. All day Wen Zhong, Lei Gong, and Dian Mu contend with one another, crashing and thundering their displeasure; throwing spears of rain and sleet against house. Little Joe and brother Hoss leave day before to go help Miss Carrie, make sure she okay. Every hour they gone Mistah Ben roam house liked caged tiger chewing on worry.

Mistah Ben right to worry.

The Chinese man closed his eyes and drew a breath. Slowly, he let it out as he opened his hands and rested them on his knees, seeking balance. Vision that confront him tear at his heart. Mistah Ben hear it first – horses' hooves pounding into yard. HopSing in dining room, clearing dishes. Sudden noise make one drop and smash.

It also omen of what was to come.

Mistah Ben rise to feet as front door fly open. Doctor Martin come in first. Behind doctor come men carrying Little Joe. Number three son white and black like chessboard, skin very pale and covered with deep purple bruises. Little Joe barely breathing. Men carry him upstairs toward his room as Mistah Ben turn to follow.

Doctor stop him.

The Chinese man opened his eyes. Tears trailed down his cheeks. He hear Mistah Ben ask how is Little Joe? Doctor shake his head and then say...

'Ben, there's more.'

Never forget Mistah Ben stepping out of house and walking to wagon; rain pouring down like his tears. Only thing that anchor him to the living is number three son. Very sick. Almost die as well.

Not want to live.

Hop Sing sat a moment longer and then rose to his feet. Though Mistahs Hoss and Adam no longer home, still plenty to do; plenty men to care for. Young Mistah Jamie due home from trip with Candy to mark trees soon. Boy need much food to grow tall like brothers.

Disappointed with himself, the Cartwright's Chinese cook struck a tear from his cheek. Must remember wise mother's words, spoken when he a young man.

'All of life is a dream walking, all of death is a going home.'

Hop Sing had just driven his fist into a mound of dough, with a little more violence than was necessary, when he sensed he was not alone.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you."

He shake head. "Mistah Cartwright always welcome in Hop Sing's kitchen."

Mistah Ben chuckle as he knew he would. "Thank you."

Indicating the chair he'd just vacated with a nod, the man from China said, "Sit."

Mistah Ben stare at him. Rancher not sit, but cross over to the area that holds shrines. He stand a moment, looking at the faces of loved ones lost, and then turn back to say, "I can feel him here today. Hoss, I mean."

Fear in his voice.

Hop Sing set the bowl of chopped vegetables aside. He feel it too – a presence, almost as strong as in life.

Mistah Ben walk over to door with window in it that look out on porch. He stare out of it a moment and then announce, "I'm going after Joe." Then he turn to look at him as if he expects argument. Mistah Joe almost thirty-two; too old to have his father follow.

Too young to know better.

When Hop Sing say nothing, Mister Ben go on. "I can't help it. I feel..." He ran hand across his face. "Maybe it's just the...time of year, but I can't help feeling there's been trouble. That Joe is...hurt."

"Wise man not ignore voice of heart," he say softly. "Mistah Cartwright very wise man."

"Or an very old fool," his boss and friend counter.

"I pack basket. You take to Little Joe."

The rancher laugh. "The usual?"

"Plenty food, coffee, special teas," he say as he began to move. "Put on top of salve and bandages. Add bottle of brandy from cabinet."

Mistah Ben's lips twitch. "Sounds about right." His boss cross room to stand by his side. Hand fall on shoulder. "Thank you for understanding, old friend, and for not chiding this old mother hen."

"Mother hen take good care of chick. Gather under wing to keep safe." Hop Sing pick up apron and make shooing motion. "You go find Little Joe. You tell him Hop Sing say so!"

Older man indicate things he gather together. "Should I...?"

"I bring basket out to barn. You go now!"

Mistah Ben straighten up and salute. "Yes, sir!" he say with laugh.

Hop Sing turn back and pretend to go to work then, but as soon as friend is out of the kitchen, he drop what he is doing and walk over to the shrine. Once there, he light candle and place a stick of incense at its heart.

"What you think, Mistah Hoss? Should Hop Sing go too?"

At that moment wind outside rises and Mister Ben's sailor's bell that hangs on porch strikes three times.

Hop Sing bow his head, deeply humbled. After he finish basket for Little Joe, he begin another.

Mistah Ben not know it yet, but he not go alone.