TEN
"You're gonna what?"
Hoss Cartwright shook his head. He couldn't have heard Adam right.
Could he?
They were standing in the stable. Adam had asked him to follow him outdoors, makin' up some story about there bein' a horse he needed to take a look at. It'd been three days since Joe's fever broke, and little brother was downstairs for the first time, sittin' in the blue chair by the fire. He'd watched them go like he knew they was plannin' somethin'. The thing was, he wasn't
Adam was.
"Hear me out," his older brother said.
"Hear you out? You're plumb crazy, Adam, if you think Pa's gonna let you take Little Joe anywhere near Finch Webb!"
"That's why I don't intend to tell him."
"You're gonna lie to Pa?"
Older brother's nose wrinkled until it was right up next to his eyes. "No. Not exactly. I'm going to tell him the truth – just not all of it."
Adam was right smart. A sight smarter than he was. But right now, well, he seemed thick as a brick.
"So let me get this straight," the big teen began, "you're gonna tell Pa that Doc Martin ain't comin' back for a few days..."
"Which is true," his brother agreed.
"And that he asked you to bring Little Joe in to see him in town since he ain't?"
Older brother gave a curt nod. "That's right."
Hoss shook his head. "I didn't hear the Doc say nothin' like that."
"You weren't in on the conversation."
He planted his hands on his hips. "And just when did this here conversation happen to happen?"
Adam was unruffled. "You were in the kitchen, remember? Talking Hop Sing into allowing you to raid the ice box."
Hoss scowled. "I weren't in there that long."
"Long enough."
And people said the Chinese were inscrutable.
Hoss ran a hand through his reddish-blond hair and then clamped it on the back of his neck. "What makes you so all-fired sure Little Joe's ready to make this trip?"
Adam puffed out a breath of air. "He's not."
"Then what in Tarnation do you think you're thinkin'?"
Older brother was silent for a moment, then he said, "All right. You tell me what you would do."
"About what?"
"Pa is out of danger, right?"
Hoss nodded. So the Doc had said before he left.
"So you and I are free to take off with Monty to hunt Finch Webb down."
His brother's jaw tightened. "Dang right!"
"And Little Joe is just going to stay home knitting socks."
Hoss frowned. "What?"
"You and I and Monty are going to hunt down the man who forced Joe to pull the trigger on his own father, and baby brother is going to meekly accept the fact that he can't go along and stay home engaging in some harmless activity."
Meek? Little Joe?
"Well, no..."
"No." Adam's lips were pursed. His hazel eyes narrowed. "So, what do you suppose Joe is going to do?"
Hoss scratched his head. "Foller us?"
"Yes, er...'foller' us. Precisely. Placing himself and probably us in danger."
"Hop Sing could watch him."
"Hop Sing." Adam's lips pursed. He let out a little sigh like an exasperated school marm dealing with a particularly dull-witted student. "This would be the same Hop Sing who watched Little Joe after Marie's accident. The same Hop Sing whose only job was to keep a five year old with him in the house until Pa put that horse down. And the same Hop Sing who felt so sorry for Joe that he went to fix him a special treat while little brother used the opportunity to follow Pa out of the house and into the corral and almost got trampled?"
The big man blew out a breath. "Yeah, that'd be the same one," he admitted with defeat. He thought a moment. "What about Ming-hua?"
Adam rolled his eyes. "What about Ming-hua?"
That little gal was a bigger mess than little brother makin' mudpies.
"Yeah..."
Adam's gaze went to the house. "Face it, Hoss. If we go, we have to take Joe with us. It's the only way to keep him safe."
"By puttin' him in danger..."
His brother nodded. "Yes."
Hoss thought about it a moment and then shook his head. "Is that what you college-educated types call logical thinkin'?"
Adam's hazel eyes twinkled. "A wise man once said that logic is the art of going wrong with confidence."
The big man considered it for a minute – everythin', that was – Doc Martin's words, Pa's condition, Little Joe's ornery spirit, his own confusion, and Adam's, well, Adam's confidence.
He sure was a slick one, that older brother of his.
"Pa's gonna take a belt to you, older brother, I don't care how grow'd up you are."
"By the time he's able to, he'll have cooled off. Think about it Hoss. Most likely we'll ride out with Monty, find Finch, and be back within a day or two. Monty thinks he's holed up somewhere pretty close. Pa's only awake a few hours of the day. He doesn't have to know."
Hoss pinned his brother with his ice-blue eyes. "But he will. You know he will. He's...Pa."
Older brother was silent for a moment. "You know I was thinking of leaving."
It was a statement. Coming out of the blue like it was, it was like a punch in the gut.
"Yeah."
"So, I'll leave."
He shook his head. "You ain't leavin', Adam. You never was."
Anger crept into his brother's tone. "Oh, so you know what I'm thinking now?"
"Sure do." At Adam's look, he went on. "You're thinkin' it's all your fault this happened since you was thinkin' of leavin' and went up to that mining camp 'cause you got a burr under your saddle about Pa not trustin' you due to what happened with Joe and Butch. You're all-fired sure if you'd been at the house Little Joe would never have been taken out of his bed and Pa wouldn't have been shot and we'd all be dressin' in our Sunday best now, headed for services lookin' pretty as jaybirds."
Adam scowled. "No, I'm not."
Meaning, yes, he was.
"Adam, if you think takin' Joe to hunt for Finch is gonna keep you from feelin' guilty somehow about –"
Older brother looked startled. He didn't say a word for a minute, as if he was considerin' what he'd just said. Then, "I don't, Hoss. Honestly, this isn't about me. It's about Little Joe. He feels responsible for what happened to Pa. This is about...absolution."
There he went with one of them ten dollar words. "Ab-so what?"
"Pardon. Release." Adam's gaze returned to the house. It was almost like he was lookin' through the door and seein' Joe. "Baby brother needs to forgive himself."
"So you're thinkin'," he began, remembering what Adam had said earlier, "that we need to go wrong with confidence."
Older brother's cheek twitched. "In a big way."
Hoss thought a moment and then blew out a sigh. "So when are you gonna tell Pa?"
"I'm not," Adam shot back. "You are."
"Now wait just a goldarned minute!"
"Think about it," he said. "Pa will suspect something if I tell him. He knows you're trustworthy."
"I ain't gonna be so trustworthy when he finds out I lied to him!"
"Left out part of the truth," Adam corrected.
The big man remained silent for several heartbeats and then said, "You missed your callin', older brother, you know that?"
The twitch settled into a half-smile. "You mean I should have been a lawyer?"
"I mean you should've been a snake oil salesman."
His brother's hazel eyes twinkled. "A noble calling, after all."
There just was no winnin' with him.
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Joe felt like a snot-nosed wet-behind-the-ears kid all bundled up in his heavy coat and half the blankets the ranch house had. Pa'd been none to happy to hear that his older brothers were gonna take him to town, even if it was on doctor's orders, and had insisted Adam and Hoss make sure he didn't catch a chill. He'd been excited about it at first. Though he'd told no one, his side still hurt like heck and he had to be careful when he moved, but once the fever broke and he'd been able to eat, he'd gained strength back fast enough and was champing a the bit to do something.
'Course the something he really wanted to do no one was gonna let him do, which was go after Finch Webb.
He'd shouted 'til he was hoarse – and Pa had sent Hop Sing down from his room to issue a warning – about how no one was doing anything to look for that bad man and they all ought to be ashamed! What were they doin' in the house baby-sittin' him? Why weren't they out with Deputy Coffee or the sheriff, tracking down Rosey and Greg?
Why didn't they go away so he could do the same thing?
He'd had it all planned out. He was still kind of weak and his side was sore as a boil, so he knew he'd have to be careful. He was gonna take Cadfan out shortly after everyone else fell asleep and go to town. There was a man named Harry who always hung out in front of the saloon. He was a 'malicious witness', as Pa put it. In other words, he liked to gossip. He figured that if anyone would know anything about Finch Webb, it would be Harry. The old man sat on the porch of the saloon most of the day asking questions and dispensin' what Adam liked to call his 'dubious wisdom'. Joe shifted, pulling at the collar of his winter coat, which was itching. He knew the sheriff talked to the old man, so if anyone was likely to know what was goin' on with the posse that had been sent after Finch, it would be him.
He'd been sittin' in the blue chair in the great room last night plottin' and planning, when his brothers had come back into the house and announced that, in the morning, they were gonna take him exactly where he wanted to go!
God must be rewarding him for doing something right that he didn't know nothing about.
"You doing all right back there, Little Joe?" Hoss called back to where he was sitting in the wagon's bed.
"I'm dying of the heat!" he shouted back. The spring day was chilly, but not chilly enough to be bundled up like a baby on a winter sleigh ride. "Can't you stop this thing so I can peel off a few layers?"
"Now, Joe. You know we promised Pa we'd keep you all toasty warm."
"You're burning the toast!" he groused.
Both of his brothers laughed. It should have made him angry. But he was so happy to be out of the house, he found it hard to work up a lather.
'Sides, if he did, they'd just rewrap him even tighter.
Joe closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the feed sack Hoss had placed in the wagon's bed. He left his eyes open and stared at the crisp blue sky, thinking about God up there in His heaven. So much had happened in the last week or so that it was hard to take it in. He'd been so sick – Pa'd been so sick – he'd hardly had time to think about the fact that he could have lost both Pa and Hoss – and maybe Adam too. Hoss made nothing of it, but that blow he'd taken to the head had been a mean one. And while Adam wasn't there when Pa was...shot...he came home right after. If he'd been a few minutes earlier, he would have walked right in on Finch Webb and could have been shot too.
Would have been shot.
Scooting down a little further, Joe let his eyes drift closed. When he was little, sometimes his Pa would read him stories from the Bible before he went to sleep. He liked the ones with battles and kings the most, because they were exciting. His favorite king was David. He kind of identified with him since David was sort of small for his age when he was a boy. There was that fight with Goliath. Nobody thought David could beat that giant, but he did. He won that battle and all the other battles he fought in order to gain his kingdom. But there were other stories about David. Ones that weren't as much fun. Right now he was thinking about how the king's own son turned on him and tried to take his kingdom. David had to run. He had to hide. He lost everything.
And yet, he was a man after God's heart.
He'd wondered then and, truth be told, wondered now why God let all those bad things happen to someone He loved, some said, more than anyone else. Joe's lips curled in a smile when he remembered what Pa had said when he'd asked him just that.
'There are three kinds of storms, Joseph, that God lets into our lives. The first is for correction, when we've lost our way. The second is a protective one, to guard and to guide us. And the third, son,' he'd smiled then, 'is for perfection.'1
As he drifted off to sleep, Joe wondered which kind of storm he was in the midst of now.
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Ben Cartwright shifted, easing the pain in his lower torso, and turned away from the window. Doctor Martin had told him to begin sitting up for an hour or so several times a day to stave off any threat of pneumonia. He'd had Hop Sing help him to the chair by the window so he could look out and watch his sons depart. He was still not entirely at peace with Joseph going into town with his brothers. It struck him as odd that Paul would want the boy bumping around in the back of a wagon or riding a horse so soon. Hoss had explained that Paul said that Joe's rib had knitted nicely and the physician thought it was high time for Little Joe to be up and about just like him. Being a young sprout, Paul said, he thought a trip into town would do the boy a world of good. It made sense.
So why did he feel so troubled?
"You're an old fool, that's why," the older man grumbled.
Sometimes he felt too old to be raising a high-spirited boy like Joseph. At times he wondered what God was thinking. If Joe had been his first, when he too had the energy and vitality of youth, it would have been so much easier. Rearing a quiet studious boy like Adam at forty-five would have been a joy, where, plain and simple there were times when raising up a mop-headed maverick like Joseph was nearly impossible. Still, the joy Joseph brought into his later life with his unbridled enthusiasm and mercurial nature was of a different kind. Little Joe didn't have a word for 'can't' in his vocabulary. He saw each and every day as a challenge and lived each one to the fullest. His youngest son made him see things in a different light, as if the world had just begun and all that lay before him were endless possibilities.
Yes, he loved that boy.
"Mister Cartwright?" a delicate voice intruded. "All right for Ming-hua to come in?"
Ben shifted his eyes without moving his torso. The young Chinese girl stood in the doorway of his room. She was carrying a fresh pitcher of water.
"Of course," he said.
"I did not want to disturb you," she said as she moved toward the bedside table. "Perhaps you were communing with the ancestors?"
Ben's lip twitched. With the oldest Ancestor of all, perhaps.
"How are you today?" he asked, wincing as he turned further.
The girl was pale. She looked like she'd lost weight and might blow away if a strong breeze came along. Her head hung down.
"Ming-hua worry for Miss Rosey."
He was concerned about Miss Rosey too. It galled him that he had to sit here, useless, while others went out to rescue her from that villain, Finch Webb. The doctor had warned him that, though the wound had been far less dangerous than he had first supposed, if he resumed any sort of normal activity too soon he might well tear the stitches loose and begin to bleed again.
In other words, no getting out of bed alone or getting on a horse.
"Why don't you sit down for a moment?" he asked, indicating the chair by the bed that had been occupied by his sons until a short time ago.
"Hop Sing has much for Ming-hua to do."
"Well, Hop Sing works for me," he said with a smile, "so I don't think a minute or two would be out of order."
With a small nod, she did as he asked.
Ben studied her. She was a beautiful girl. His heart went out to her for the way she had risked her safety and left everything behind to save Joseph's life. If not for Ming-hua, he fully believed Wade Bosh would have had the time to get Little Joe on the Sun Princess and sail away with him, perhaps forever.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked.
Her small fingers were entwined and moved on the lap of her silk dress like she was working dough. "There is nothing to do. Nothing Ming-hua can do!" she added with a bit of fire.
Guilt. Oh, he knew all about that.
"You feel you should have been able to stop those men from taking Rosey?"
"I did not even try!"
"As I understand it, you were tied up in the kitchen." As Ben straightened up and reached for her hand, he stifled a groan. "Child, there was nothing you could do to prevent it." He paused to regain his breath and then added, softly, "There was nothing either of us could have done ."
The girl was still looking at her hands. She nodded and then lifted her tear-streaked face. "Ming-hua fears bad man will hurt Miss Rosey."
It was Ben's fear as well. He knew what Finch wanted from the beautiful woman and he knew she would choose death before she gave it to him. It was galling not to know what was going on with the search. He'd asked Adam to stop by the sheriff's office while they were in town to see what he could find out. His son doubted the lawman would be there, but he said he'd try.
He took her small fingers in his and squeezed them tightly. "We have to have faith, you and I. In our friends but, most of all, in God."
She sniffed. "God is all wise. Knows everything. He will take care of Miss Rosey." Ben felt a return of pressure on his fingers. Ming-hua smiled. "Take care of Mister Cartwright's sons as well."
Out of the mouths of babes.
Ben nodded, fighting his own tears. "Do you think," he asked, "that you could ask Hop Sing to prepare some of that chamomile tea he keeps in the kitchen and bring it up?" At her look he added, though he hated to admit it, "I'm feeling a little tired. I think perhaps it would be best if I go back to bed for a while."
As the young woman exited the room, Ben gingerly turned his body and his attention to the window. Adam had said that, if Joseph grew too weary, they might stay over at the hotel in Eagle Station for the night. Paul Martin had given him permission – if he felt up to it – to go down to the great room for an hour or so tonight. He'd thought about it, but there seemed to be little point. All that would come of sitting in that big empty room was to remind him that his sons were gone and he was alone.
A chill snaked down his spine at the thought, a reminder that the unthinkable almost had happened.
Ben sighed.
His sleep, if and when it came tonight, would not be restful.
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Adam had wondered if he was making a mistake when he hatched the scheme to bring Little Joe along on the hunt for Finch.
Now he knew it was a mistake.
"Calm down, Joe, or I swear I will have Hoss turn this wagon around and take you straight back to the Ponderosa!" he snapped.
His baby brother looked anything but contrite.
"You can't do that, Adam! I got just as much right to be here as you and Hoss!"
He was right. He was also a very sick young man.
"You listen to Adam, Little Joe. You ain't listenin'," Hoss warned. "You're the only one got the power to put yourself on the sideline and you know it."
Adam nodded. "I didn't say you had no right to be here. After all I'm the one who lied to Pa so you could be here!"
Hoss rolled his eyes over to him.
He shrugged. After all, it was the truth.
"But you just said..." Joe sucked in a breath. Adam saw his brother's hand go toward his ribcage, but he stopped just short of touching it. "You just said I had to stay with the wagon."
He walked over to Joe and took him by the shoulders. He was so young. Compared to him, he'd lived only half a lifetime. Joe tried to shrug him off, but he held on tight.
"Joe, I'm going to let you make that decision." As his brother opened his mouth, he held up a finger. "After you hear me out. Finch Webb is a dangerous and desperate man. He probably thinks Pa's dead, which means he has nothing to lose. He's holding Rosey and possibly Greg and he will think nothing of using them as human shields."
"I know all that – "
"So, do you think – when we take him on – that we have to be top notch?"
Little Joe scowled. "Of course. What kind of an idiot do you take me for?"
He ignored that question.
"If Hoss and I are worried about you, will we be top notch?"
Joe's jaw tightened as he knew it would. "No one needs to worry about me. I can take care of myself."
This was the delicate part.
"I know you can." At Joe's hopeful look, he added, "Under normal circumstances. But Joe, you're far from normal." His lips quirked with an affectionate smile. "Oh, you hide it well. I doubt even Hop Sing noticed. But you're in a lot of pain."
"I'm fine."
Adam looked at him. Joe's color was better, but it was far from the normal hale and hearty shade one would expect with a thirteen year old boy. There were dark circles under his eyes and his cheek color was still high, foreboding another bought with fever. The black-haired man drew in a long breath. He hated to do it, but with Joe one picture was worth a thousand words.
He reached out and tapped his brother on his left side.
Joe sucked in air like a grounded fish.
"Hey! What'd...you do...that for?"
The tears in his little brother's eyes only added to Adam's concern. Maybe he should just take him back.
"Joe, you're sick."
Little Joe's jaw was tight. His nostrils flared. Adam expected a fight to end all finds. So it was to his consternation and hesitant delight when Joe admitted he was right.
"I'm right?" he blinked.
"If that big old ox of a brother of mine had driven that wagon a little better, I'd be fine." Little Joe struck away a tear that had escaped his eye to travel down his cheek. "Like being flung around in a chicken coop," he growled.
Hoss was no dummy. He took it up right there. "Well, now, little brother, I apologize. I know you could'a taken on that old Finch Webb all on your lonesome if I hadn't of been so clumsy."
Gratitude shone out of Joe's eyes. "Dang right, you big lump!"
Adam stepped forward to place a hand on his baby brother's shoulder. "Look, Joe. I want you to be as much a part of this as you can. I know... I know you have a special score to settle with Finch. That's why I let you come along. But from here on out you have to do what I tell you. Do you understand? And if that means staying with the wagon, then you stay with the wagon." When Joe failed to respond he added, "You don't want to be responsible for Hoss or me, or maybe Rosey getting killed because your rib gave out on you at just the wrong moment. Now do you?"
Joe was looking at the ground, scuffing it with his boot. "I guess not."
"Good. Now let's get back in the wagon. We're supposed to meet Monty at the line shack." Adam sized up his brother's condition and decided to ask. "Do you need any help getting in the wagon?"
Joe shook his hand off. Then, instead of heading for the wagon, he stood there, breathing in and out slowly. Adam thought he was angry.
He was wrong.
"I guess maybe you could give me a hand," the boy said, his tone defeated.
Dear Lord.
They were in trouble.
1 Greg Laurie