Though She Be But Little

Prologue

Seventeen-year-old Little Joe Cartwright was one confused man.

He lay on the floor of the Ponderosa ranch house blinking away mental cobwebs and trying to remember how the heck he'd ended up on his backside in the midst of one royal mess consisting of a broken vase and a dozen or more scattered flower stems, with his Pa's red, white, and black Indian blanket under his head. He must have grabbed it on the way down. Good thing too, otherwise his head would have hit the wood.

And that would have hurt!

Joe winced as a light flickered into existence on the second floor. It was quickly followed by a chorus of mixed voices and the thunder of a half-dozen slippered feet. A second later he heard the click of a gun.

"Who's there?" his father called out. "Show yourself!"

Maybe if he just pulled the blanket over his head they'd miss him.

It was worth a shot.

"Pa. The railing's gone," Adam remarked as causally as if he had just told them the sun was up or dinner was on the table.

A moment later he heard his brother Hoss snort. "Little Joe, what in Tarnation are you doin' layin' on the floor, boy?"

"Joe?" Unlike his brothers, his father's tone was concerned. "Joe! Are you all right?" A few seconds later the older man was kneeling at his side. He felt the familiar touch of a rough hand on his face. "Son?"

"Next time you try to sneak out, Joe, you might remember there's a turn at the bottom of the steps," Adam remarked smugly as he finished descending the stairs and came to a halt beside them, arms folded over his chest.

Joe hid his smile as his father shot his brother an angry look. Older brother shifted and straightened up and tried to wipe the sneer off his lips.

He didn't do a very good job.

"Can you sit up, Joe? Are you hurt?" Pa asked him as his hand cupped his neck.

You know, he hadn't really thought about it. Now that he did, he realized he was pretty uncomfortable. In fact, it felt like he was layin' on a bed of rocks.

Or shards of pottery.

Joe winced. "Sorry about your vase, Pa."

"I'm not worried about the vase. I'm concerned about you." His father looked at the broken rail and then at the floor. It was a good five feet from one to the other. Turning back to him, he asked. "What happened?"

"Maybe he was sleep-walkin'?" Hoss offered, his voice hushed, as if there was something strange and wonderful, but just a bit sinister about the idea.

"Gosh, Pa," Joe answered honestly, "I don't know. I remember goin' to bed. The next thing I knew I was layin' here on the floor. I must have lost my footing or something."

His father had helped him into a seated position. Pa reached for the Indian blanket and scowled as he picked it up and noted the jagged shards of pottery it covered.

Hoss had made it to the floor. His brother bent and picked up one of the shards. "Doggone it, Joe. It's a good thing that blanket ended up under your head. You could'a been hurt right bad!"

"It seems Marie is still looking out for him," Adam remarked in a quiet voice from his post on the stair.

Joe saw the look that crossed his Pa's face – a funny look, like maybe Adam was right. Turning his head hurt, but Joe did it to look at Hoss – who looked like he'd seen a ghost.

It was at that moment that Joe Cartwright realized he'd never asked where that Indian blanket had come from or why it was in such a prominent position on the stair.

"What do you mean mama's still lookin' out for me?"

"Your brother is being sentimental, Joseph. That's all," his pa said in a funny voice.

"Adam? Sentimental?" Joe snorted. "The next thing I know you'll be tellin' me brother Hoss is goin' to Yale!"

"Now, you watch it, little brother," Hoss growled. "I ain't so stupid I couldn't go to that there Yale if'n I wanted to."

His Pa had stood up and was offering him a hand. "I don't think your brother meant to imply you were stupid, Hoss. Simply that it's as unlikely that you would want to go to an Eastern college as your brother Adam being carried away by sentiment."

Hoss was scowling. "Huh?"

"Forget it, you big galoot!" Joe snarled as he limped over to the settee. As he settled in, his Pa began to run his hands over him, checking for injuries. Joe endured it, hoping there was nothing to find. He'd never live it down if he got injured tumbling down the stairs. When he started as his Pa reached his ankle, he knew that hope was in vain.

"Everything seems to be intact with the exception of his ankle," his father remarked.

"And the exception of a good night's sleep," Adam groused as he ran a hand over his eyes. "We've got a lot of work to do tomorrow. I think we should all go back to –"

Joe was looking from one of them to the other. "Now, you wait a minute. You can't say something like that about my mama and not tell me what you mean by it!" Joe's gaze went to the Indian blanket that was now wrapped around his body. "What's this blanket got to do with Mama lookin' out for me?"

His father sucked in a breath and then seemed to come to a conclusion. "Actually, your mother was looking out for all of us. You wouldn't remember it, Joe," he added softly, "you were only four."

Joe frowned as he looked from his father to his brothers. "So you just decided not to tell me?"

"You never asked," Adam said. "About the blanket, I mean."

He realized now that that blanket had been there all of his life – at least for all of his life he could remember.

"Well, I'm askin' now. What's up with the blanket? How come it's so important?"

Hoss was lookin' at his feet. Adam had a strange look on his face, like the thought of it made him a little sick. Pa had gone really still. The older man hesitated and then reached out to touch the vivid red cloth worked in black and white.

"This blanket isn't important, Joseph. It's priceless."

Joe looked at the blanket. Though its colors were bright, it was a bit tattered about the edges. "Pa..." he said slowly, "I don't think anyone would give you a dollar for that old thing."

Unexpectedly, Adam snorted. He tried to turn it into a cough, but he wasn't fooled.

"Adam?"

"Someone gave Pa a good bit more than that for it," his older brother remarked, tight-lipped.

Again, Joe looked at them like they had gone out of their minds.

"If someone gave Pa somethin' for it, then how come he's got it? And what's that got to do with Mama?" His head was hurting almost as much as his ankle. "Come on! Someone fess up!"

His father sat on the table beside the settee and reached out to touch the cloth. His touch was almost reverential.

"Though she be but little, she is fierce," his father whispered.

And then he began to talk.