Whose Sin Is Her Love – chapter six
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Hoss returned with the coffee and, true to Paul Martin's prediction, it was indeed a very long night.
Ben scrubbed his hands over his stubbly cheeks and let out a sigh as he headed for the window. The sun wasn't up yet, but its rising light was gilding the tips of the mountains, so it would be soon. He figured it was around six in the morning and he hadn't slept a wink.
It felt remarkably like one of the nights he'd spent waiting for Joseph to come home.
The coffee in the pot on the table was cold now. He poured himself another cup in spite of that and sipped it as he pulled the curtains aside and looked out on the waking town. It had always stuck him as odd how a momentous thing could happen and the world went on as if nothing had occurred. It was foolish, he knew. There wasn't a single man, woman, or child on the street who knew what had happened in this room. Only him, Hoss, and Paul Martin.
And, of course, God.
Ben turned to look at the sleeping form on the bed and then lowered himself into the chair pressed up against the table. Adah made it through the night, but it had been – as the Bard she was so found of might have put it – a battle joined.
When Adah first woke, she was non-responsive. The actress had been put through the mill by then, with Paul insisting he had to purge the contents of her stomach a second time in order to be certain the poison was out. The physician then ordered Adah be lifted from the bed and the two of them had taken turns walking her around the room to keep her both awake and alive. When she started to become aware of her surroundings, she fought them with a strength and resilience that had both surprised and shocked his friend. Adah did not want to live. She made that quite clear. The rancher reached up, touched his cheek, and sighed. Just before she fell into an exhausted sleep she had slapped him hard and told him in no uncertain terms that he had no right to interfere with her life – or death – and that she hated him.
Ben raised his cup and found he had to stifle the instinct to blow on the dark liquid to cool it.
Instinct. The instinct of a man – or woman – was to live and not to die. He could only guess what had driven this beautiful, vivacious, and intelligent woman to seek to end her life.
Then again, no, he didn't have to guess. He knew.
John C. Regan.
The rancher ran a hand over his eyes. It wasn't within him to hate, but he did. He hated Regan.
God help him. He wanted the man to die.
"Ben?"
The weary man turned toward the door. It was open enough to allow Paul Martin to peek in. "I thought you were sleeping," he told the doctor as he crossed to it.
"Just woke up," the other man replied. Paul's eyes went to the supine figure on the bed. "How is she?"
He looked too. He'd pulled the covers up to Adah's chin and left her to sleep. Her face was pale and drawn; her breathing still a bit shallow. His friend had assured him that was normal.
"About the same," he said.
Paul nodded. "I wanted to check in before I got some breakfast. After that, I will come back and spell you so you can get some sleep." The physician's eyes crinkled with worry. "You look dreadful."
Ben snorted. "I imagine I look like a man who went a night without sleep."
"More than that, you look like a man who came close to losing someone he loves."
After Paul left, Ben closed the door and leaned on it. Loves? Did he still love Adah? He'd told himself he didn't – that what had happened to Joseph and the actress's nonchalance about the attack had driven out any feelings he had for her.
But had it?
"…Ben…"
The rancher turned toward the bed. Adah was awake and looking at him. He went over to her and anchored a hip on the edge of the feather tick.
"How are you feeling?"
Adah closed her eyes and turned her face away from him. Her voice was rough with disuse. "Like a failure."
One of her hands lay on the top of the coverlet. He took it in his. "Because you didn't die?"
A tear streamed down her cheek. "Yes."
"But there's more?"
She glanced at him. "…yes."
"Tell me."
Adah shook her head.
Ben drew in a breath. She was weak. Did he have a right to press her? And yet, if he didn't. would she ever be able to speak of what had driven her to this pass? If not, would she attempt to take her life again?
"It has to do with Regan."
The actress' jaw tightened. "Don't…mention that brute to me," she said, with a little of the fire he knew. "He's…the Devil incarnate!"
"I tend to agree."
Adah sucked in air as more tears flowed. "Oh, Ben, I am so…sorry. I…." Her long lashes fluttered against her too-white cheeks. "I was a coward."
"To try to take your life?"
She shook her head. "About…Little Joe."
"Did Regan threaten you?" He needed to know. "Adam said he struck you. Were you afraid…?"
She was still shaking her head.
"What then?"
"John threatened…." She sucked in air. "John threatened to finish…what he'd begun if I did anything other than go with him." Adah's gaze returned to him. "He said he would kill Little Joe…and then…you. All I could do was to get him away from Virginia City as fast as I could." The beautiful woman began to sob. "Oh, Ben! He's a monster! How could I…. How could I be so blind?!"
Ben reached out to touch her silken hair and then brushed a stray lock of the fine brown stuff off her forehead. In many ways, Adah was a child. Though she pretended to be sophisticated and worldly, she was an innocent. Belief. Hope. Trust. These were the things she gave. What she got in return was doubt, despair, and duplicity. He had tried to rescue her from it.
Tried and failed.
"An old friend told me once that those who trust can never be betrayed," he said softly, "only mistaken."
She made a noise low in her throat. "You should have let me…die, Ben. I will never be free of him."
It had come out overnight, the tale of all this man had put her through. At first John C. Regan appeared to be a doting husband. The reason soon became apparent. As the husband of 'The Menken' he could bask in Adah's limelight and ride the wave of her success to glory. At first he'd treated her decently enough, but then the abuse began; mental and emotional at first, but gradually turning physical. Regan kept her cowed. He made her believe no one would ever love or want her if they knew what a wretch she was. Adah was no stranger to alcohol or drugs. He'd known that when he asked her to marry him. He had thought – hoped – that the clean fresh hope of Nevada might heal her.
Talk about a fool.
When Adah's star began to wane and his to rise, John C. Regan found he had less need of her. The prizefighter promised he would follow when her career called her back to the States. Instead he brought in the press, announced that she had never divorced Isaac Menken – that she was married to two men at one time – and took up with a mistress. By this time Adah was pregnant. She had – and lost – their child alone and in secret. As surely as the pugilist's fists had sought to end his young son's life, Regan's words were meant to destroy this sad and beautiful woman. Shortly before she came to Virginia City, Adah had a confrontation with him. Regan paid her back by telling her he was taking it to the courts. Everything about her life would be exposed and laid bare. No one would want her anymore. No theater would hire such a notorious strumpet and bigamist.
Death must have seemed the only way out.
"Mistaken," Adah muttered as sleep began to take her. "They whose guilt within their bosom lies… imagine every eye…beholds their…blame."
Shakespeare. Of course.
Ben's hand remained on Adah's hair as sleep blissfully took her away from the unbearable ache her life had become. He remained where he was for a moment and then rose and returned to the table. On its surface lay the note he had found on the floor. He'd scanned it earlier.
He read it now with deeper insight.
'I feel called upon to make an explanation of the rash step I have taken in defense of all law, human and divine, because I know that many things will be said of me, some good and very many bad, and perhaps blame attached to those who are innocent. God forgive those who hate me, and bless all who have one kind thought left for a poor reckless loving woman who cast her soul out upon the broad ocean of human love, where it was the sport of the happy waves for a few short hours, and then was left to drift helpless against the cold rocks, until she learned to love death better than life.
Because I am homeless, poor and friendless, and so unloved, I leave this world. Because I have forgotten to look up to the God of my childhood prayers, and ceased to remember the counsel of my dear old mother – and because one of God's greatest handiworks – one of his glorious creatures, lifted up my poor weary soul to see the light of his love, and the greatness of his brave heart, until his sweet words of truth and promise, drank out all my life – absorbed all of the good and beauty, and left me alone, desolate to die. I am not afraid to die. I have suffered so much that there cannot be anymore for me.
I go prayerless, therefore pity and do not condemn me,
My worthless life has long since left me and gone to dwell in the breast of the man, who by foul suspicion of my love and truth for him, has thus ushered me up to the bar of the Almighty, where I shall pray for his forgiveness for the cruel and wrong he has done the weak and defenseless being whose sin is her love for him, as my death proves. God bless him, and pity me."
It was signed, Adah Isaacs Menken, and dated the day before.
He was going to take her to the Ponderosa, if she would go. He felt – no, knew – that Adah needed time away from prying eyes to recover. It also concerned him that John C. Regan was in the area. No doubt the brute would try to bully her again. Ben was sure it would delight the prizefighter no end to know he had brought Adah low enough that she had made an attempt to take he life. At the Ponderosa Hop Sing could look after her when he was gone and, once the boys came home, she could join in and see what family was all about. Somewhere, over the years, Adah had lost her way. It would be a bit uncomfortable at first between her and Little Joe, but he knew his son. He knew the boy would be forgiving and that, perhaps, Joseph's unconditional love could help this poor weary creature to heal.
Ben returned to Adah's side and laid his hand on the actress' arm. Leaning in, he planted a kiss on her cheek. As he did Paul Martin returned and ordered him to bed.
He didn't argue. He was weary too.
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Adam stopped what he was doing. He raised a hand to shield his eyes as he looked west toward the sound of an approaching horse. He'd risen early and left the shack to chop wood. It was cold inside and neither Temperance, who was in a maternal condition, nor his brother who was injured, needed to be cold. Joe was still sleeping when he finished breakfast and he'd checked on him before leaving the shack. His brother's fever was no higher. The trouble was, it wasn't any lower either. Most likely it was caused by Joe's body fighting to throw off the infection in his leg. Still, that meant there was infection and that had him worried.
"You sound just like your father," the man in black muttered under his breath.
A second later the rider came into view. He was as run of the mill as they came. The man was neither short nor tall, and neither thick nor thin. His hair was the color of mud and, from what he could tell, his eyes were the same – with, perhaps, a splash of reflected sky thrown in. The stranger was dressed as a typical cowboy in brown twill pants and a tan shirt that had seen better days. A well-worn hide vest had been tossed over the shirt and he wore a red bandana around his throat – the only splash of color in an otherwise monotonous ensemble. The rider might have been forty or fifty, or somewhere in-between. It was hard to tell.
"Howdy, stranger," Adam said as his gaze flicked to the rifle he'd leaned against the pile of wood he'd just created. "Can I help you?"
"I'm lookin' for the Ponderosa. I heard Ben Cartwright can always use hands and I'm in need of work."
"I see." Adam put the ax down and took a step forward. "Are you a wrangler?"
"Heck, no, but I know about carpentry and construction." The man nodded toward the shack. "I could build you one of those in a couple of days."
"A tradesman, eh?" Adam began to roll his sleeves down. "That's better than a wrangler."
"What do you know about it? You know Ben Cartwright?"
"I should. He's my father." The man in black bent over the water bucket and came back with a ladle full. "Drink?"
"Don't mind if I do," the stranger said as he reached down. "How far is it to the Ponderosa?"
"About a day and a half, if you keep a good pace."
"What're you doin' out here, if you don't mind my askin'?" the man asked as he handed the ladle back. "Seems the boss' son should be, well, I don't know…sittin' somewhere with his feet up, smokin' a cigar and sippin' whiskey."
Adam continued to assess the stranger. He didn't look like a carpenter. His arms, where they showed, weren't muscled, and his hands appeared to be smooth and unblemished. Temperance hadn't given a description of the man following her, but this could be him.
"Not this boss' son. I work for wages just like everyone else, though I do get to enjoy a glass of his French brandy from time to time."
"Brandy? Yuck."
Adam laughed. "It's an acquired taste." He turned and pointed to the southeast. "Head that way. You're already on Ponderosa land. You'll probably run into some of the hands this evening."
"Already on it? Just how big is it?"
It was his father's crowning achievement. "A thousand square acres."
The stranger whistled. "That's half the state of Nevada."
"Just about." Adam drew a breath. He'd heard motion inside the cabin.
The man heard it to. "I thought you were alone."
"My kid brother's with me. We're readying the line shacks for winter."
"It just the two of you?"
Ah. Here we go.
"Yes."
"You see anyone else in these parts?"
"No. Why do you want to know?"
The man took hold of his horse's reins and pulled them to one side, urging the horse to the left and around him.
"You can't be too careful out here. A man's pretty far from help. Just checkin' so as I know what I'm in for."
As Adam watched the stranger depart, it dawned on him that he hadn't got a name. Then again, if the man was headed to the Ponderosa, he'd know soon enough. If not, and he was the one who was searching for Temperance, it was best to be rid of him as quickly as possible. That way he could warn her. Though, what he was going to do to protect her, he didn't know.
Drop the bar into place and poke the nose of his rifle out the loophole he supposed.
"Adam?"
He turned to find his kid brother standing in the partially open door. "You should be in bed, Joe," he said.
"Good morning to you too," the teenager snorted. "I'm feeling better."
Adam's trained eye assessed him. There were circles under the circles cradling Joe's green eyes and his color was off. "You don't look better."
"Says Doctor Cartwright." His brother blew out a breath as he left the shack. "I came out to get some wood. Tempy is cold."
"Tempy?" Adam's dark brows danced. "Have we turned on the charm as requested?"
"There's nothing too charming about a woman losing her breakfast."
"She threw up?"
Joe rolled his eyes. "No, she 'lost' it 'cause it up and walked away."
"Ha ha."
Baby brother did that 'thing' he did, where he twisted his lips, flared his nostrils, and sent his mobile brows flying.
"Joe?"
Joe was gathering wood. "Yeah?"
"Tell Temperance to stay inside."
His brother came to stand beside him. "How come?"
"We had a visitor. Said he was headed to the Ponderosa for work."
"You don't think he was?"
"I'm not sure, but just in case."
"Okay, I'll tell her." Joe turned with the wood in his arms. "I'll take this inside and get the stove stoked. I got her in the bed now and she's shivering. Will you check on her in a few minutes?"
"Why? Where are you going?"
Little brother scowled. "Tempy's breakfast may not have walked away, but I'm gonna float away if I don't go take care of business."
"Alone?"
"For gosh sakes, Adam, of course 'alone'! You haven't had to escort me to the privy since I was four!"
"Try ten."
"Well, I'm eighteen now and I sure as hell can find my way to a tree and back!"
"Almost eighteen."
Joe's temper was rising. "Adam…."
"Okay, okay. Just…be careful. I don't know why, but I've got a feeling that man was after something other than a job. Plus it looks like a storm is brewing."
"And it has to be me? Is that it?"
Until that moment he hadn't thought of that. He was thinking about Temperance. Even if Regan knew they were running the line, there was no way the bully could know exactly where they were. As he'd told the stranger, there were a thousand square acres of land to vanish into.
"I didn't mean that, Joe. I just meant…well…I meant be careful. You never know what's in the woods.
"Joe?" a light feminine voice called.
"Coming!" Looking back over his shoulder, Joe added, "Tempy could use some help, Adam. I didn't…. Well, I didn't want to help her out of her clothes and they're smelling pretty bad."
"Oh? But I can?"
Joe looked at him like he was an idiot. "You're old. She's not gonna worry about you."
With that insult, his brother disappeared into the shack.
Adam ran a hand over his face and raised his eyes to the sky.
All he got in answer to his unspoken prayer was a distant rumble of thunder that sounded remarkably like God laughing.
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Joe glanced up as he stepped out of the shack. Adam was right. There was a storm approaching, so he'd better hurry. He dropped a couple of extra pieces of wood back on the pile and then turned toward the woods and relief. Older brother had insisted he remain while Tempy shed her soiled clothes and then had him help her ease into a large shirt left behind by one of the shack's former tenants. She'd shinnied into a pair of jeans two sizes too big for her too and then allowed Adam to help her to bed. When big brother pulled the covers up to her chin, he'd announced his intention to make the long-needed trip into the woods. Adam had given him that 'look' – like he was four-years-old and didn't know which end to wipe – and then sent him out the door with another warning to be 'careful'.
What did big brother think there was in the woods? A great big old grizzly bear waitin' to eat him up? Or maybe a mountain cat that caught his scent and was hiding up in the branches of the tree he was gonna take a piss on? For gosh sakes…. No, hell's bells! He was tired of everybody treating him like he was a snot-nosed kid still wearin' a dress. He was gonna be eighteen in a few days. Everybody told him that meant he was gonna be a man. Well, everyone but Pa who said it meant he was old enough to be 'considered' a man. Pa said his actions would prove whether or not he was. He sure wanted to prove to Pa that he was all grown up – and to Adam and Hoss as well. He'd looked up to them his whole life and now it was time to stand as an equal, even if he was three, or four, or well, somewhere around six inches shorter – in boots.
Joe sighed.
It was hopeless.
While he sought a suitable tree – as if there was some rule about which one to pee on – Joe considered the last year. It had been a tough one. He'd loved and lost first Julia and then Amy, faced down outlaws, been mistaken for a bank robber and nearly shot, and dealt with a dozen other things that would have made most men turn tail and head back East. The worse of them had been John C. Regan. Regan had used him to get to his pa and nearly killed him in the bargain. He still felt, well, shamed that he hadn't been able to defend himself – that it had taken Hoss to do it for him. Oh, he understood well enough that Regan was half-again as tall, twice his weight, and meaner than a rattler on a spit, but there should have been something he could have done! His brothers taught him how to use his smaller size to his advantage. He was fast – really fast. If Regan had taken him on in a fair fight he would have won. Might have won.
Could have won.
Maybe.
Joe unbuttoned his trousers and took aim. When he did, the thunder cracked overhead, almost like an omen, and rain began to fall. They were in for a storm for sure. He finished his business, fastened his flap, and turned back toward the shack just as a second thunder-clap split the night. The lightning flashed, illuminating the forest. It was followed by a profound darkness.
Joe swallowed hard and looked up.
And up.
"The name's Regan," the giant of a man who had haunted his dreams for nearly a year said as he cracked his knuckles. "John C. Regan. I'll be sure they tell your pa so he can write it on your gravestone."
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