Chapter 7- The Prisoner Within
Posted 4/15/07
The steady click of knitting needles greeted Benjamin Cartwright as he reentered the room he shared with his son. With his entrance, Sadie Wilkes looked up at him while finishing her latest stitch.
"Did he stir?" Ben inquired anxiously while watching the boarding house owner gather her work within her lap before standing to smooth her black skirt.
"No, he's been asleep ever since you left, Mr. Cartwright," She smiled. "Not a peep from him . . . " She finished on a rather awkward note as if suddenly realizing her poor choice of words considering the boy's current state.
Ben smiled weakly at her response before putting to voice more adequately his appreciation for her help this day. "Thank you, Mrs. Wilkes. I was able to get my errands done."
"Not a problem, Mr. Cartwright. You put me out none. I'd just be doing in my sitting room, what I've been doing up here, my knitting." She answered cheerfully while moving toward the doorway. Then looking back at Joseph, she added in afterthought, "He looks so peaceful sleeping there. Thank goodness, it seems it'll be one of them times when he'll be spared one of them awful awakenings he's been having. Not that they bother me, mind you . . . The poor thing . . . It's just that a soul can't help but feel for him when you hear him struggle and cry out as he does . . . But that's all, . . . right? Doesn't say a word more, does he? Not that I'm prying, mind you. My heart goes out to you, Mr. Cartwright . . . you and the boy. Why it's a terrible shame, I tell you . . . He's such a fine-looking chap . . . and the thought of him never being right again . . . "
Sadie Wilke's voice trailed off in her proffered condolences as she noted the heightened tension her words seemed to be creating in Ben Cartwright's present demeanor. She then hastily decided to carry on in a different vein to appease any stress she may have caused by speaking her inward thoughts so openly. "It just isn't right. But it's not ours to question God's will, is it? He works in mysterious ways . . . still that don't make things any easier... Well, just so you know, Mr. Cartwright, I'm keeping you in my prayers . . ."
"Thank you, Mrs. Wilkes" Ben muttered softly, deciding to take the high road though the woman's earlier words still bristled inside of him.
'But what had she said, that hadn't already played out in his own, fearful mind?'
"Well, if you excuse me," Mrs. Wilkes began as if taking a cue from Ben's continued silence in the matter, "I'd best be going. I'll bring a tray up to you around 6:00. We're having stew tonight."
"Thank you," was all Ben could muster as he watched the gray-haired woman exit the room, closing the door behind her.
He stood a few seconds, staring at the dark paneled oak of the now shut entryway beside him, as if seeking to borrow a modicum of composure from its sure solidness before turning back toward his son once more. Slowly, he did, making his way quietly toward the bed, holding the boy, heedful of Joseph's restful state as he lowered his weight carefully down upon the mattress to sit beside him. Longingly, he gazed down at his son while he continued to slumber beneath the blue coverlet before tentatively venturing to reach a hand out to brush back the wavy sweep of hair which fell across his brow. The palm of his hand lingered against the softness of his son's locks, feeling the natural warmth of the boy's flesh beneath it. He knew he should draw his hand back for fear of waking Joe, but he was greedy. These quiet moments of virtual normalcy were so few and far between. Moments in which he could deceive himself into thinking that his son was just resting, like any other boy his age might be doing after a long day's chores or play... such as bygone nights within their home when he would come upon Joe in his room . . . a school book and tablet scattered upon his bed beside him where he had fallen asleep doing his homework . . . or perhaps on an early morn, when he'd entered his sleepyhead son's bedroom to wake him for the day ahead. Joe was never one to take kindly to greeting the sun's breaking rays . . .
"Silly, old fool . . . " He chided himself while drawing his hand away quickly as he felt Joe begin to stir beneath his lingering touch. The boy, however, only shifted in his sleep. Ben's throat tightened as he remained staring down upon his son. 'No, Joe was no longer the boy he had been before this cattle drive...'
Faint bruising and a few remaining scabs were the only visual reminders left from the explosion the boy had survived, but it was the lasting effects, hidden from the naked eye in moments such as this, which caused Ben's heart to plummet as his mind moved back to the day of his son's initial wakening.
The once remote storm had crept up on the small, desert town of Laurel Springs as he remained lost in his own private hell. It wasn't until the first flashes of lightning illuminated the dim confines of their room, followed by its accompanying roar of thunder, that he was ripped from his own, dark thoughts. But it was the faint moan, which followed, that shook him to his very core .
"Uhhh..."
"Joseph?" He called out, startled as if almost afraid to hope. No immediate response followed his inquiry.
"Joseph?" He asserted again, this time more forcefully as his tired eyes sought out the shadowy form of his son in the now dim interior. Cursing the gloominess brought on by the storm, he quickly turned to search out a match in which to light the oil lamp upon the table beside him. His nerves got the better of him as he fumbled with the contents upon the table until he came across his goal. Striking it, his impatient hands then moved towards the wick, but it was some seconds later before it caught light. Too much time had elapsed since he had heard the meager cry beside him, and letting caution fall to the wayside, he didn't replace the lamp's protective globe. Instead he swung back around, fraught with the need to examine his son for any noticeable change in his condition.
The unbridled flame behind him flickered in a wild dance brought on by a draft in the room, causing it to cast only ill-suited snatches of light, which did nothing to aid him. So he was forced to turn right back around and replace the globe, fitfully turning the key in the process to increase the illuminating glow it shed. Then immediately turning back to his son, he uttered, "Joseph?" once more.
The pale cast revealed his son's still face, causing Ben to wonder if perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. Brushing such thought aside, he called out his youngest child's name again. "Joseph?" The deep timber of his spoken word caused the boy beneath him to stir in reaction.
Unable to contain his joy, his voice broke as he attempted conversation once more while tears brightened his dark eyes. "Joe, it's Pa. Can you hear me, son? Wake up for me, boy. I've been waiting such a long time."
Long lashes fluttered in reaction to the directive spoken above him before opening to reveal the unfocused hazel gaze beneath.
"Joseph...Thank God!" Ben breathed when it appeared at long last that his son had finally been returned to him.
But this moment of awe and anticipation was to be short-lived, replaced moments later by rampant confusion and continued despair.
For in his elation, Ben Cartwright reached out to his son, making ready to gather the waking child into his embrace; one that had long seemed so natural between the two of them. But with their first contact, even in Joe's weaken state, Ben could feel the boy flinch then stiffen within his hold.
Withdrawing immediately his disconcerted eyes peered down towards his son while he questioned bewilderedly,"Joseph, what is it? Have I hurt you?"
The boy, however, did not respond to his questions. Instead, an inarticulate screech rose within Joe's dry throat as his hazel eyes darted about the dimly lit room around him.
Unsure of how to proceed, Ben extended a comforting hand to rest lightly upon his son's shoulder as he responded reassuringly, "It's Pa, son. We're in Laurel Springs. You were in an accident a few weeks ago, but you're recovering now. You've just awoken from a long sleep. You've come back to me...just like I knew you would. I'm with you, Joseph. It's Pa! I'm right here. You're going to be alright, son."
The reassurance he tried to convey with his touch and spoken words were not to be accepted, for immediately, Joe recoiled from his father's close proximity, breaking their contact as his head rolled back while his neck and shoulders arched upwards upon the pillow underneath him. A weak and fearful cry tore from his throat.
"Joseph?" Ben called out, frightened now by what was taking place in front of him. "Joseph?" He attempted again as his startled eyes witnessed his son's body begin to thrash back and forth upon the bed. Then turning abruptly, Ben lunged for the door, almost tearing it from its hinges as he opened it while his hoarse voice barked out to anyone who might be in the boarding house hallway. " Help! My son needs the doctor! Someone, please go for Doctor Timmons!"
Glancing back momentarily towards his son's still face, Ben's uneasy gaze traveled the length of the blue blanket to where Joe's previous movement revealed the tail end of a binding restraint tied around his left hand. Though it remained hidden, another like it claimed similar custody of his right hand as well. It was a precautionary measure only- incase Joe was to suffer another of these periodic, rough awakenings he had been prone to ever since coming out of his coma. Though Ben had been appalled at Dr. Timmon's suggestion towards employing such measures, Harold had rationalized it was more for Joe's protection rather than his own or whomever might be in the room with the boy during such an occurrence.
For in the beginning, after weeks of being in a coma, the boy was too weak and his muscle tone too atrophied, the doctor reasoned, for Joseph to prove a threat to anyone but himself during one of these episodes. The truth be known, however, during each and every one of these disturbing incidents, Ben Cartwright's heart was in grave danger of breaking as he watched his youngest child struggle and cry out against the fetters which bound him to his bed like a wild creature caught up within a trap.
"The lasting effects of a traumatic head injury are very unpredictable, Ben." Harold Timmons had cautioned in the days following Joseph's initial awakening. "I can't really tell you what to expect."
'What had he expected?' Ben wondered as he remained sitting beside his son. 'Certainly, not what had followed, though thankfully Joe's troubled awakenings seemed to be growing less and less frequent with each, passing day. With this knowledge, Ben had been able to convince Harold Timmons to allow him to free Joseph of his restraining bonds during the daytime hours once the boy no longer seemed to feel as threatened and was perhaps more sentient to the goings on within the room about him. Still the anguished father's heart cried out. For though Joe no longer faced the plight of an ensnared animal during his waking hours at least, his son continued to be a prisoner to the residual damage inflicted upon his body and mind from the explosion he survived. Joseph remained aloof to all human contact while staring off wordlessly towards some other worldly plane- one, which proved unattainable to all others who tried to reach out and help the boy, including himself.
A/N - Many thanks to those who are continuing to read this story and for the kind words you've left in response to it. I hope you enjoy this newest chapter. :)
