FIELDS OF WHITE
by BeckyS
© September 2002 – December 2003, as allowable


PART 9

Ben and Roy broke through the trees just in time to see Jesse leap from the porch and bring down Joe.  Ben booted his weary horse into a stumbling gallop, kicking snow in all directions.  There was a horse on the ground in his way, and a brief glance showed him Blake, leaning against the saddle, but he didn't hesitate, lifting Buck in an arcing jump over both.  A small portion of his mind recognized that the pounding of Chubb's hooves behind him had stopped, so he assumed Roy would take care of Blake.  He was closer, closer – close enough to see the wickedly long knife flash between the two bodies.

Heart in his throat, he jumped from the saddle and slipped his way to the men through the knee-high snow.  He'd almost reached them when Joe kicked Jesse away and then grabbed at him again and they rolled over the edge of the arroyo's banks and disappeared.

Ben's steps obliterated the red-stained snow and he slid down the hill after them to stand, appalled and heaving for air, over two men who lay like death in a pool of blood.

"Joe!" he cried and knelt next to the two men.  He shoved Jesse off his boy and stroked the matted curls lightly with a shaking hand, afraid of what he was about to find. 

Then Joe's head lifted slightly and turned to his father.  His skin was as pale as the field around them, his eyes huge, but he was alive.  Ben grabbed at his shoulders, pulled him into his lap as if he were six, not sixteen, and held him tight to his chest.

"Are you all right, son?  Please, God, be all right!"

Joe was shaking; Ben could feel him trembling all over. 

"Pa . . . Pa . . . ."  It was all he could seem to say.

"Did he get you, Joe?  Did he hurt you?"

Ben pushed him back just a little so he could look him over.  His jacket was open, his shirt gory with blood. 

Joe shook his head, and Ben almost collapsed with relief.

"Not okay . . . ." Joe gasped.  "Not . . . all right.  Pa?"

Terrified, Ben searched Joe's face, looking for the lines of pain and finding them, but what he saw in his son's eyes told him that the hurt wasn't from physical injury.

"Adam?" Joe asked, his hands bruising Ben's arms.

Ben nodded and cupped his hand around the back of Joe's neck.  "He's alive. Doc Martin should be with him by now."

"Thank God," Joe said and slumped in his arms.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

They left Jesse's body where it was, being slowly covered by a light dusting of new snow.  Ben helped his son up the slope, only pausing for a moment to shake his head at Roy, who had a rattled-looking Blake by one arm.  Roy looked down at the body.

"Nothing to be done," said Ben.  "We'll get a wagon out here later.   Right now I need to take care of Joe."

"Blake's about done in, too, but I think I can get him to town when that other feller gets here.  The roan's dead, but I found Jesse's horse – Joe can ride him home and we'll figure out what belongs to who later." 

"Blake."  Ben's voice was biting, angry.  "Was it worth it?  Was it worth the lives of all of these people?"

Blake raised his head, and a touch of his old arrogance surfaced.  "What people?  Jesse?  Stoddard?  That Mex woman?"

Ben surged forward and grabbed Blake by the coat.  "People, Blake.  People who had as much right to their lives as you do."  He suddenly realized Joe had a grip on his arm, was holding him back from striking.

"He's not worth it, Pa.  We got what we want, we got what Adam wanted."

Blake snorted.  "Stoddard.  He's the cause of this.  That no good drifter—"

Now it was Joe in his face.  Low and deadly, he broke in.  "That 'no good drifter' was named Adam . . . Stoddard . . . Cartwright." 

Blake jerked back.

"That's right.  My brother."

"And my son," spat Ben. "Your mistake was in thinking that, because a man was a stranger, he was of no account.  Maybe you'll do better, if you ever get out of jail, and think twice before attacking anyone."

"C'mon, you," Roy said, jerking on the man's arm.  "I'm gonna put you in the lean-to for a coupla minutes while I get things sorted out."  He looked at Joe critically, and as he headed for the small structure, said, "Better get the boy inside and sat down for a bit.  A swallow or two o' whiskey wouldn't be such a bad thing, neither." The two of them disappeared into the lean-to.

Joe looked up at his father. "Pa – I'm awful cold, Pa." 

Ben had an arm around Joe's waist, holding him tight to his side, and he could feel the shivers.  They weren't all, he knew, from the freezing mountain air.  "Let's get you inside and warmed up, then."  He called out, "Roy?"

The sheriff reappeared.  "He ain't gonna be goin' nowhere for a while."  He trudged through the snow to the cabin door and jerked his head in the direction of the dead horse.  "Gotta get him a horse, get him back to town.  I'll check in with you tomorrow 'bout everything."

Ben stepped up onto the porch, but Joe stopped and fumbled at his jacket.

"No – wait!" He pulled out a piece of paper.

"Joe?" asked Ben, remembering Blake's demands for a document of some kind.

He handed it to the sheriff.  "You gotta make this legal."

Roy took it and looked keenly at Joe.  "This what them boys were all after?"

Joe nodded, weary beyond measure.

"Roy, if you don't mind, let's do this inside."

Roy nodded.  The cabin was dark and cold, so, after getting Joe seated on the bunk, Ben got a fire started while Roy lit the lantern that was hanging on a rope from the ceiling.  Then he unfolded the paper carefully, and Ben looked over his shoulder.

DEED  Santa Maria Mining Company, Markleeville, Utah Territory.  Owner:  Isabella Rivera de la Vega Morales.  For services rendered and upon terms agreed to, hereby transferred to Adam Stoddard `

"Now we know why they was calling him Stoddard 'stead of Cartwright," Roy murmured.

The name on the deed merely confirmed Ben's fears – it was Isabella who'd been killed.  What had that done to Adam?  They had cared for each other desperately once, with all the passion and devotion of first love.  He must have been there when she died; had he been, in some way, responsible, or at least a catalyst?

And what were the "terms agreed to"?  That Adam took them seriously was evident from his words to his father about "making sure his heirs did what was right."  He'd meant for Ben, Hoss and Joe to take care of this mine, but there had to be more to it.

Roy studied both sides of the paper.  "I'm guessin' Adam wanted me to get this into his right name.  I can do that, seein' as I've known him since he was a little feller, but what d'you think we're supposed to do with it then?"

"Joe?" Ben turned to his son.  "Do you know what Isabella wanted Adam to do?"

Joe was slumped against the wall, his eyes closed.  "He was worried about a boy; I think his name is Berto.  He said that you had to prove that he was Stoddard, for the boy. I think Blake and those men saw the deed, figured that was his name.  Decided to kill him, too."

"Too?" asked Roy, his attention suddenly intensely focused.

Joe opened his eyes.  "Adam said Jesse killed Isabella.  Shot her."

"Well, he got his just rewards, then, without botherin' a jury and judge."

Ben stared at the fire, and the memory of a beautiful young face danced in the flames, with the teasing shadow of a young man's grin that was seen all too little these days.  "Isabella called her husband Bertito.  Berto could be their son."

"Makes sense."  Roy blew out a breath.  "Mebbe if Adam is up to it tomorrow, I can ask him.  Meantime, I'll take care of the legal end of this."

Joe seemed to shrink down farther onto the bed, and his voice was a mere thread.  "Thanks.  It'll mean a lot to him."

Ben looked at him sharply.  Mostly exhaustion, he deduced, but he'd better take a look at that arm, too.  His "See you tomorrow, then," to Roy was vague and distracted, but the sheriff just waved at him on his way out the door.

Ben glanced around the room for supplies to tend Joe and, for the first time, saw the mess.  Dirtied straw, buckets by the fire, bowls and tin cups that hadn't been washed, pieces of leather hanging from each corner of the bed, a pile of dirty laundry ominously streaked with brown stains—

He drew a harsh breath.

Joe saw what he was looking at.  "I did the best I could, Pa.  I had to tie him down so he wouldn't move while I dug . . . while I . . . ."  He choked on the words, and his eyes gleamed wetly.  "Oh, Pa—" 

Ben moved swiftly to sit at his side.  "It's all right, son.  You did well."

Joe leaned against him.  "I was so scared."

He rubbed Joe's back in slow circles as he took in the mute evidence of the near-disaster his sons had been through.  "I'm proud of you, Joseph.  So proud." 


Epilogue

Two days.  It had been two days since he'd rescued his brother, and it felt a lifetime ago and yet as if it had just happened.  Joe stood at his brother's window, staring at the peaceful snowfields, but seeing only Jesse's face when the knife had slid, all too easily, into his stomach.  He'd felt nothing but relief at the time – knowing immediately that it was all over, that the fight was finished, that Adam was finally safe.  It was only later that the nightmares began to haunt him.

How could it be so easy to kill a man, even a killer like Jesse?  Roy had absolved him of blame – called it self-defense – and though Joe was glad not to have to face a trial, that didn't stop the memories.

Adam had been right.  It was easy to kill; not so easy to live with it.

But his brother was alive because of him, and so he couldn't regret what he'd done.  He rubbed at his forehead.  Paul Martin had told him he'd saved Adam's life by going after the bullet.  As it was, there'd been an infection that had kept Adam delirious until early this morning when his fever finally broke.  Paul had squeezed his shoulder and said it could have been much worse.

Roy had sent messengers down to Markleeville and through the countryside down there, finally tracking down the boy Berto.  Isabella's son.  Joe remembered her now, a beautiful woman his brother had danced with and walked out with and, he believed, loved.  She'd left when Joe was still young, and he'd quickly forgotten her.  He was sorry for that, now.  It seemed wrong not to have more memories of her, now that she was dead.  Berto would be all right, though.  He would go live with his uncle, and between Señor Morales and Adam, Joe knew they had made sure the boy would never lack for money.  It seemed little enough.

He moved the rocking chair closer to Adam's bed and sat down, studying his brother.  How long would he sleep?  Joe had taken this after-lunch shift at his father's request, who hoped, he knew, that he would be able to soothe Adam's worries when he woke.  But he'd been up here for three hours now, and Adam laid still and quiet, his chest rising and falling in the steady, deep breathing of healing sleep, left arm bound to his body to protect his shoulder while it mended from the dislocation.  Joe rubbed at his face.  He hadn't known to do that.

He took his brother's cold hand between his own, rubbed warmth back into it then tucked it under the coverlet again.  Elbows on knees, fingers mussing his hair into wild curls, he waited.

A deep sigh drew his attention from his useless musings.  A shift of the bedclothes, a hitched breath, brow furrowed with awakening pain.

"Adam?" he said softly, and was rewarded by twitching eyelids.  "That's it, brother, wake up.  You've slept long enough for now."

Another sigh, and Adam's eyes opened halfway.  "Joe?" he said on a breath of air.

"That's right, it's me.  You're gonna be okay – just gotta rest."

"No," he said, his voice marginally stronger.  "Pa's gotta prove—"

"Shhh," Joe interrupted the familiar phrase.  "It's all taken care of.  Roy took the deed to the judge, got it transferred to your name, all right and proper.  It's been recorded, and it's in the safe downstairs."

Adam opened his eyes the rest of the way, and a hint of a smile touched his lips.  "You did it.  Knew you could."

Joe ducked his head.  "Yeah."  Then he straightened and shook his finger at his brother.  "An' I don't ever want to have to do anything like that again, you hear?  You stay out of these messes.  You're supposed to be the sensible, smart Cartwright—"

Now Adam really was laughing, though quietly, as if it hurt, but he had to let it out anyway.

Joe grinned, too, then asked, "How are you feeling?"

Adam's brows crinkled, and he rubbed with his free hand at the deep lines between them as if trying to smooth away the pain.  "Confused.  You say everything's taken care of?"

"Yeah. Pa and Hoss and Sheriff Coffee helped out, but we got it all taken care of for you."

Now one black eyebrow rose.  "Everything?"

Joe's gaze dropped to the floor.  "Hardest thing I ever did, gettin' that bullet out of your back.  Got you home, got the deed from the cabin, fought Jesse—"

He broke off, not wanting to bring back the memories, but Adam filled in the rest.

"To the death."  His gaze rested on Joe.  "Are you all right?"

Joe knew he was asking about more than physical injuries.  "Yeah.  No.  I don't know."  Then he leaned forward and gripped his brother's hand again.  "I will be.  I wish I hadn't had to do it, but he didn't give me a choice.  It was him or me, and if he got me I knew you'd be next."

"You'll be all right, in time.  You'll find your way."  His gaze seemed to go unfocused for a moment, and he whispered, "We both will."  Then his long fingers curled around Joe's, and he looked up at his little brother.  "Thanks."

It was a simple word, simply said, but it held a new bond between them.  They'd always loved each other, but Adam had always held his hand in protection over Joe.  Now they both knew that Joe could – and would – do the same for him.

Adam was tiring fast, his eyelids drooping, but he seemed to have one more thing to say.  Joe leaned closer, and on a final sleepy breath heard his brother say with satisfaction, ". . . a man."

Joe could feel tears filling his eyes.  He looked up and saw his father standing in the doorway.

Ben nodded.  "That's right, Joseph.  A man."


The End