Whose Sin Is Her Love – chapter two
xxxxxxxxxx
Ben Cartwright watched as his youngest and eldest son took off together and then turned to their brother. Hoss had his hand raised to shield his eyes and was following his brothers' departure. The big man was dressed for travel, as was he, in his winter coat and gloves. It was a good thing Adam had chosen to move up the trip to the check out the line shacks. It looked like winter might make an early appearance this year and the inventory needed to be taken and repairs made before the snow flew and trapped them all.
"They'll be fine," he said.
Hoss dropped his hand and looked at him. "I'm just glad to see Little Joe ridin' off in the opposite direction of town and trouble."
Adah was set to arrive in Virginia City today, along with her entourage. Some of the ranch hands – who were enthusiasts of prize fighting – had told him that the monster known as the 'Benecia Boy', John C. Regan, wouldn't make his appearance until a few days later.
He wanted to talk to Adah before he did.
Ben nodded. It had been imperative that they keep the news of the pugilist's arrival from Little Joe. Even at full strength – and Joseph was far from that – his slender, one hundred and thirty pound boy had no hope of surviving a bout with Regan, who was nearly a foot taller and over twice his weight. It had been all Hoss could do to come out alive. Regan, along with being a fighter, was a hired thug – a strong-arm man who 'protected' shady businessmen and the like, pulverizing and, if the rumors were true, at times killing for money. Within the last year he had become the toast of Europe. The 'boy', as Regan was called, had fought another contender and, though the match had been a draw, gained notoriety and fame by claiming he had won and was now 'champion' of the world. The odd thing was, the man he 'beat' was now traveling with him; the two of them appearing in exhibition fights.
Apparently Virginia City was their next venue.
"Pa?"
"Sorry, son. I was lost in my thoughts."
Hoss eyed him. "You think it's right smart to go into town?"
"I need to speak to Adah."
"How come? I mean, I know you ain't gotta tell me, but I've been wonderin'. I thought you said you was done with her after what happened to Little Joe."
He was 'done with her'. Any feelings he'd entertained for Adah had been driven out when he realized that, not only was she remaining with Regan, but that she showed no remorse for what the bully had done to his boy. He could never love such a woman. The attachment had begun innocently enough. Adah, a Creole beauty, reminded him of Joseph's mother. She was high-spirited, knew her mind, and was not afraid to speak it. The actress was also vulnerable; helpless, in a way, to help herself. Like Marie, life had not treated her kindly. Adah had been used and abused by a long line of relatives and lovers. Being Creole meant that she was often rejected; considered worthless as Joseph's mother had been. The theater offered her a chance at redemption. People cared little about the pedigree of one who entertained them – so long as they kept them entertained. Adah Isaacs Menken was the toast of America, traveling from coast to coast; performing a dozen different plays at once. She made people forget their troubles, if only for the hour or two that the gaslights were lit.
Sadly, Adah found no such release.
Early on she'd married Isaac Menken, a Jewish merchant from Cincinnati. From what he understood the man deeply loved Adah, but there was something wild in her that would not let her be tamed and so the match did not last. After that, like a beautiful butterfly, the actress flitted from man to man until she settled on John C. Regan. Impossible as it was to believe, it seemed she truly loved him. Adah married Regan and for a time it appeared, from what the papers reported at least, that she'd found happiness.
It proved fleeting.
All too soon the rumors began to fly. Adah had not officially divorced Menken before marrying the prize fighter. The critics who had praised her now called her a 'whore' and 'bigamist' and sought to destroy her. Her public – those who had cheered her – turned like the crowd did on Christ and called for her blood. Perhaps that was why she'd returned to the West. Perhaps Adah felt a kinship with the women who peopled the bawdy houses, those who were maltreated and misunderstood, and who – in time – were tossed away as refuse.
Or maybe she was hoping to make a new start.
"As I told your brother, there are many kinds of love," Ben replied. He paused, seeking the words that would communicate his inmost feelings. "I still love, Adah, but not as a man loves a woman he would marry. More as a friend or, perhaps, a father. She is as much a child as your teenage brother. Adah needs someone to guide her, to make her see that the road she is walking can only have one end."
"What end is that, Pa?"
He was a perceptive man. Everyone would tell you so and none more than his sons. His feelings and intuitions had saved them from harm more times than he could recall. Ben's intuitions were alive now with fear for this woman he had loved and lost, because she would not – and could not – love herself.
How would it end?
He had no idea, but he knew it would not be well.
xxxxxxxxxx
Adam glanced at his youngest brother. Joe was chipper and chattering away like the group of New World Warblers that had recently winged over their heads. Anytime they escaped the confines of the Ponderosa – and got away from Pa and Hop Sing, whom his little brother regarded as mother hens – Joe's naturally ebullient nature surfaced. The only problem was, it faded just as quickly as it appeared. Joe could be footloose and fancy-free for an hour or two – maybe even a day or two – but it never lasted long. His brother's highs were matched by his lows. The kid thought he had everybody fooled, but he and Hoss knew better. Little Joe Cartwright lived his life waiting for the other boot to drop. He'd watched him as a child and noted the change every time they rode away without him.
Every time they did, Little Joe was sure one of them would die.
It was understandable. He'd felt that way as a kid after Inger passed, but life hadn't given him time to wallow in his fears. He had to get on with being a man – at the age of eight.
Adam glanced at his brother again and smiled.
Thank God Joe had been given more time.
"You see something funny?" Joe asked with no edge to his voice.
"Yeah, you." Adam chuckled. "You bounce one more time in that saddle and Cochise is going to move out from under you and let you fall."
Joe tossed his head to free his eyes of wind-blown curls. Little brother wasn't wearing his hat – or his gray corduroy coat or gloves. Joe loved cold weather and fare thrived on it. The color was up in his cheeks and his green eyes were bright as the sun on the pines. He was dressed today in a dark blue shirt and gray pants with black belt and boots. He cut quite a dashing figure.
Fortunately, out here at the edge of their property, there weren't any pretty girls to notice.
"Older brother, you gotta get your nose out of those boring old books of yours more often."
"I'm perfectly happy with my 'boring old books', thank you."
Joe cocked his head. "Don't you know? All work and no play makes Adam a dull boy."
The man in black clucked as he urged his mount around a pile of rocks that had tumbled onto his side of the trail. They hadn't been up this way since the late spring rains, so there were bound to be obstacles they would have to pass. He hoped all were as easy as that last one.
"You should try being a 'dull' boy now and then, Joe. It has its own rewards."
"You mean you think I should be like you? A man of culture and intellect?" Joe had his nose in the air. "No thank you, brother! Not if it puts a gal like Abigail Jones on my tale."
Adam resisted groaning. The last time they'd gone to town Miss Jones had actually tracked him down. Her excuse was that she wanted him to help judge the annual spelling bee, but by the way she took hold of his arm like a grizzly sinking its teeth into a trout, he – and everyone around him – knew it was much more.
"You think Pa'd like to have Miss Jones as a daughter-in-law?"
"Joe…."
"One thing for sure, your kids would have a long way to look down their noses!"
That did it.
Adam took a swipe at his brother, but Joe was already gone. Trailing back, along with the dust and cold wind, were words.
"Catch me if you can, old man!"
xxxxxxxxxx
Ben hesitated outside of the Palace Hotel, his tall figure lit by the streetlight and his eyes trained on the window of its best suite. It was a familiar spot, one that had been occupied by Lotta Crabtree and Adah Menken during their visits to town. There was a great deal of similarity between the two women. Both had come from middle class families and gone on to know wealth and fame. While Lotta's origins were known – the beautiful woman had been born in the gold mining hills of California – the reports of Adah's varied greatly. Most believed she was the legitimate daughter of Auguste Théodore, a free man of color and his wife, Magdaleine Jean Louis Janneaux, also a Louisiana Creole. Adah had been reared Catholic, but embraced her Jewish heritage. As such – a Creole, a Catholic, and a Jew – she was often disparaged and had spent most of her adult life unaccepted on one level or another. Both Lotta and Adah became performers at a very young age and found the acceptance they longed for in the theatrical world. Both could sing and dance and act with a vitality and ability that made them the toast of two continents.
Both were utterly miserable.
He had done his best to instill three things in his sons. Faith, belief in, and obedience to the Almighty was the first. Honor and loyalty to country and home, the second. Third? That they had worth. He wanted his boys to know that they were loved unconditionally and would be accepted no matter what mistakes they made or errant paths they chose.
These two women had none of these things.
For Adah, the lack of these values meant a life of extremes. She had fame and the adulation of thousands on one hand, and a string of broken relationships and bouts of melancholia on the other. He'd seen her first when, as a young man, the ship he sailed had put into a port in Cuba. At that time she'd been a dancer. There was a brief marriage to a man before Menken and he'd met her between husbands. They'd shared a table and a brief exchange and then he had pulled out of port, never dreaming he would see her again. Their second encounter came many years later after Inger had been killed. On his way to New Orleans to pay the debt he owed John Di Marigny, he'd gone to the theater in Houston, Texas and been surprised to find Adah on the bill. By then she'd become an actress and was, by all accounts one of the best. He'd gone to her dressing room and invited her to dinner. The evening proved to be both pleasant and disturbing. He had feelings for her, but she was already married again. Ben chuckled. He should have heard the alarum bells sounding then.
Two husbands in barely two years!
Adah's relationship with Isaac Menken was destined to be short-lived. By the time she'd come to Virginia City – about a year back – she'd left the merchant and become engaged to John C. Regan. He hadn't known it at the time, though it was readily apparent, that the two were so close. Ben blew out a sigh. He supposed he'd hoped he could change her mind – that he could make Adah see that she had worth, at least in his eyes. Before Joseph's attack, he had even thought of following her to her next venue to continue the pursuit, hoping he could talk her away from the thug and bully who dominated her life.
As he hoped to do now.
The light had gone on in her suite.
It was time.
xxxxxxxxxxx
The harsh weather had done a number all right. The second shack they came across – just as the sun was setting behind the mountains – had been hit by a rock slide, driven no doubt by a rush of water overflowing the nearby stream's banks. The complex, that consisted of a small wooden building with two rooms, a work shed, and an outside privy, had taken a direct hit. While the shack was standing – albeit a bit crooked – the fencing around the complex as well as the work shed were in shambles.
Fortunately, the privy was intact!
Adam placed his hands on his hips and blew out a sigh. He'd hoped to get farther away from the ranch before they had a reason to remain in one place for more than a few hours. They'd put less than half a day between them and the trouble that awaited his kid brother in Virginia City. It would be all too easy for a passerby to stop and mention that John C. Regan was back in town. He'd tried to convince baby brother to keep going, saying they could catch this one on the way back. Joe had refused, citing their father's almost preternatural sense when it came to him shirking his duty.
He couldn't really argue with that.
After a slightly heated discussion, they'd divvied up tasks. Joe would take care of the horses and secure something for their supper, while he made sure the shack was structurally sound and fit for them to sleep in. The foundation was stable enough. The force of the rockslide had pushed the upper part of the structure an inch or two to the side, but he didn't think it was in danger of collapsing. Tomorrow they would have to set about removing the roof and re-setting the beams and planks and securing them against another such attack. These shacks were absolutely essential for the winter, especially one this close to the house. Nevada was a fickle mistress. One day she would kiss and caress you, and the next cuff your head and crown you.
You never knew what you would get.
Adam glanced out the door. It was a little disconcerting to see the world beyond it at a ten to fifteen degree angle, so he cocked his head to make it right and frowned as the sun descended behind the mountains.
Joe should have been back.
The man in black caught his rifle up from where he'd propped it beside the door and stepped outside. The light was almost gone. It would be hard soon – no, nearly impossible – to track his brother should the need arise. Adam stifled a sigh as he stepped over one of the beams that belonged to the shed and headed out of the yard.
"Joe? Little Joe?! Answer me!"
The wind howled, carrying with it the sounds of the forest but nothing else.
He advanced a yard or two and tried again. "Joe?"
Something.
A sound.
No, a cry.
He started running. "Joe? Where are you? Little Joe?!"
"Adam?"
The man in black halted. He drank in air before replying; his heart pounding. "I'm here! Where are you?!"
"Adam! God! Adam, help!"
Help?
What had the kid gotten himself into this time?
The woods grew thicker as he ran. He was blind as a man in love but fear drove him forward. Each time his brother called, his voice was feebler, as if Joe was weakening.
'Think, man!' he told himself. 'Think!'
Then, he had it.
Turning sharply to the right Adam began to climb, leaving the land and the swollen stream behind. They'd camped at the bottom of what was a high bluff. As a kid he'd taken on the challenge and pushed to the top so he could stand and look out over the land that would – one day – be his. Joe probably did the same. The sun's rays cut through the trees as he reached the summit, yielding control and setting the pines afire. The sight of it was breathtaking.
Or would have been, if he hadn't been so afraid.
At first the man in black was surprised. There was no one there. Then a whimper made him spin around and suck in a breath. A second later he was stretched out to full length and looking down.
God was good. Little Joe was there.
Hanging on by a thread.
xxxxxxxxxx
The sight of her was intoxicating – for one or two beats of his heart. Adah was a beautiful woman with deep chestnut hair, naturally golden skin, and a waist a man could span with both hands. Her hair was piled high on her head and held in place by a pair of gold combs dotted with rubies and pearls. She still wore her traveling dress; one made of a rich garnet taffeta with a tartan plaid overskirt. Her feathered hat lay on the table behind her, along with her velvet cloak. If he hadn't known her like he did, he would have mistaken her for a well-off woman.
But he did know her.
Adah had carried a sadness with her the year before when she arrived in Virginia City. He'd thought it intriguing then. Now, that sadness had ripened into despair. Lines marred her heavenly face. They cradled her deep-set eyes and formed channels on either side of her painted lips. Adah had lost weight and not in a good way. She was gaunt.
In fact, she looked like a ghost.
The woman he'd loved smiled. "Ben," she said. "It's good to see you."
She'd said it, but he doubted she meant it.
"Adah."
The actress let out a little sigh. "I'm tired. It was a long ride from Placerville. Perhaps tomorrow…?"
"What I have to say will only take a minute." He paused. "Will Regan be here tomorrow?"
The lines on her forehead appeared. "I don't know."
"You don't know? You're married to the man, aren't you?"
Adah met his stare and then turned and moved into the room. "Come in, Ben, since it seems you won't go away."
He closed the door behind him. By that time the actress had taken a seat on the settee that graced the room's eastern wall. Adah met his gaze, defiant, but only for a second. Then she lowered her head into her hands.
"Oh, Ben…. What have I done?"
He went to her side. His urge was to kneel – to take her hand in his and comfort her – but he wouldn't do that.
For Joe.
"You tell me," he said, somewhat sternly.
She glanced up at him. "I thought…I'd hoped…." Adah leaned back. "I was a fool."
"For thinking a brute and a bully could be something other than what he is?"
The actress winced. "You don't know John. He's –"
"The kind of a man who would kill a seventeen-year-old boy to take revenge on another man who had done nothing to him; nothing but offer the woman he loved a better chance at life."
She leaned her chin on her hand and looked toward the window. "I told you, Ben. I don't deserve a chance at life."
"But Joseph did – and does."
She looked right at him. "I'm sure John doesn't intend to –"
"Are you? Are you sure?" Ben walked to the window, drew the curtain aside, and looked out on the near empty street. "Are you certain Regan is not coming back here to follow-up on the promise he made?"
Adah rose and came to his side. "What promise?"
He faced her. "You don't know?"
"No. Did John make you a promise before we left?"
"The promise was made to my son. Regan told Joseph that if he survived the beating, he would come back and kill him."
Her hand flew to her lips. "No! Ben. I'm sure John spoke out of anger."
He fought to rein in his own fury. "Unlike other bullies, John C. Regan is a pugilist. His 'anger' is his weapon, and his weapon is his fists! He used those fists to batter and bruise and break my boy until Joseph was terrified to leave his house – his room – to live his life!" The rancher gripped her arm. "Do you know how long it took the boy to get over it? Do you?! I'm not certain Little Joe is over it even now. Regan…broke him." Ben choked. "Any man who would do that to a boy on the cusp of manhood deserves to rot in Hell!"
Adah pressed her head into his chest. "You're right, Ben. You're right. And I deserve to rot there alongside him!"
The feel of her heart pounding against his own and the honest tears that wet his shirt took the edge off of his righteous anger. Ben hesitated, and then placed his hand on the actress' silken hair. "I'm sorry, Adah. I didn't mean…."
"Yes, yes, you did." Her voice was muffled against his shirt. "And you were right to. John C. Regan is a brute and a bully and…."
"And you love him."
She sobbed audibly. "God help me! I do."
Ben took Adah's hand and drew her over to the bed and sat beside her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and used it to dab the tears from her cheeks before handing it to her. After she had blown her nose and quieted a bit, he spoke.
"Why, Adah? Do you know?"
She shook her head and then, seeking permission with her eyes, leaned into him. "When…when he wants to be, John can be charming and debonair." Her lips curled slightly. "He knows how to show a girl the town. He's strong and able. He protects me. He…."
"Needs you like I don't?"
That took her aback, but then she nodded. "Yes, he needs me."
Ben refused the handkerchief when she offered it back. He took his thumb and wiped away another tear.
"Adah, I wish I had words to give you that would make you see yourself as I do. You are a beautiful and talented woman. You have so much to give." Ben leaned back. "But there is a difference between accepting that gift and needing it. John C. Regan's only way to fill his 'need' is to suck dry the well of your happiness and joy."
She straightened up. "You're wrong, Ben."
"Oh?"
"That well went dry many years ago."
xxxxxxxxxx
"Little Joe? Joe! Hang on!"
Adam was reaching down as far as he could. With the light gone, he could barely see his brother. Little Joe was about ten feet down. The only thing that was holding his brother in place was Joe's fingers. The kid had them entwined in the roots of a tree that stuck out from the side of the crumbling hill.
His own position was, to say the least, precarious.
"Adam! Forget…it!" Joe called out, his tone losing its desperation and passing into acceptance. "You're…gonna fall…too. Let me…go."
The man in black shifted his gaze to the stream some thirty feet below as he stretched out even farther and felt the ground shift beneath him.
"Little brother, I made Marie a promise when you were born." His fingertips brushed his brother's. "I won't ever let you go!"
Joe's face was hidden, but his eyes shone with tears. "Adam…."
"Shut up! And that's an order!" Adam shinnied forward a bit more until he felt Joe's hand within his grasp. "For once, do what you're told!"
"Adam, I….!"
He held his breath as part of the ridge jutting out over the stream crumbled away; pebbles and dirt tumbling toward the water below.
"Can you anchor your feet on anything to help me?" he asked.
"Maybe…the tree?"
"Stick the toe of your boot in the roots. Anchor yourself. Do it, Joe!"
There was a moment of silence. "Got…it."
"Now, see if you can reach up and take hold of my arm."
Joe did as he was told. It was a good thing too because the moment he felt his brother's touch, more of the ridge gave way.
"Use both hands!" he yelled.
"Adam…."
"No back-talk. Do it now!"
Ten fingers wrapped around his wrist like a vise. There was a horrible moment when Adam had to take on Joe's whole weight and he thought he was going to drop the kid – but it was over in a flash and they both were lying on the sopping wet ground. An ominous rumble warned him that they needed to move and so, exhausted as he was, he took hold of his baby brother's thin frame and tossed him – and then scrambled after him just as the edge of the ridge gave way and tumbled down in a steady stream of rock and dirt to the water below.
It took several minutes before he found the wind to ask, "How are you?"
Little Joe was silent a second too long. "I'm fine."
"How fine?"
"I'm alive, aren't I?" his brother snapped.
It was pointless. Once they got to the cabin he'd check him out.
"Can you walk?" Adam asked as he climbed shakily to his feet.
Joe deflected, as usual. "Aren't you gonna ask how I ended up down there?"
He put his hands on his hips. "Look, Joe, I can ask you here or I can ask you at the line shack where there's food and a fire. Now, answer me. Can you walk?"
"I can walk," his brother replied – just before he sucked in air like a drowning man and groaned.
"What did you do?"
"I stood up. What do you think I did?!"
"Joe…."
His brother sighed. "I don't know whether I should kick or kiss that tree. It kept me from falling but, well, I scraped my leg good on it on the way down."
"Is that all? You 'scraped' it?"
His brother gulped audibly. "I think that's all."
Adam reached out blindly, moving forward until he encountered his brother's form. Joe was trembling like a sapling in a Nor'easter.
Good Lord! Now what?
With a sigh, he lifted the kid's arm and draped it over his shoulder.
"Hey! I said I can walk! I don't need –"
"Yes, you do!" Adam snapped. "I'm tired and hungry and you're going to do what you're told until we reach the shack – and after. And if you don't…."
"If I don't what?"
A sly smile curled his lips.
"We'll see just how dull a boy Jack is!"
xxxxxxxxxx