Whispers in Silence -- 3
by BeckyS
15 Nov 2004

Hop Sing was back in his kitchen, and while he poured a cup of coffee, Hoss told him what the doctor said about the next few days. He explained about the ice, and by the time he'd finished his snack of coffee and four donuts, the cook had a bowl ready, complete with cloths and ties.

Hoss took the bowl upstairs and entered Adam's room quietly. "Any change?" he asked his father.

"Not really," Ben answered, a puzzled expression on his face. "But he looks . . . uncomfortable."

Hoss set the bowl on the nightstand and stood next to his father, hands on hips as he considered his brother. Adam was lying flat on his back, long arms on top of the covers at his sides, legs straight. "Yeah. You're right. I don't know why, but he don't look restful somehow."

"We've settled him like this every morning—"

Hoss shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe he's tired of it. I usually go to sleep and wake up pretty much the exact same way I laid down, but Joe wiggles around all night. Adam's somewhere in between us – usually rolls over once or twice, at least when we're sleepin' outside."

"That's how he's always been." Ben considered his eldest thoughtfully. "Let's see if we can't at least turn him a little bit, prop his bad arm up on a pillow, that sort of thing."

"I'll get a couple from Joe's room."

While Hoss went after pillows, Ben sat on the bed and brushed a few stray locks of hair from Adam's forehead. His son had been due for a haircut when he'd been caught in the mine cave-in, and wouldn't be at all pleased to see how long it was getting. It was even starting to curl at his nape. When he came out of this, they'd have to do some barbering or else Joe would start teasing his brother about looking like a riverboat gambler, a comment that, so far, had only been applied to the youngest Cartwright.

When. Ben realized that he had, at some point in the last few days, come to truly believe that Adam would live.

They watched him carefully, talked to him, and touched him frequently – a cool hand on the forehead, a soft damp cloth to clean his face, neck and chest, a squeeze of his hand – and congratulated each other when he opened his eyes again later that afternoon. Joe moved from the chair to the foot of the bed, delighted that his brother's gaze seemed to follow him. He stood there and called out to his father and Hoss, and they pounded up the stairs in time to see his lids flutter shut again. Joe meticulously noted the time as well as his brother's response, then gave way to Hoss' wish to stay with their brother for a while.

When Hoss found Adam watching him, he didn't call for anyone, preferring to find out what, if anything, he could accomplish between just the two of them. He told his brother about the cave-in, explained about the head injury, and promised that he would get well. Adam continued to gaze at him as if he was paying attention, as if he heard and understood every word, but he gave no response. When Hoss told him to rest a while, Adam seemed to take his suggestion, for his eyes closed, and his breathing slowed and deepened into a rhythm Hoss had known from babyhood.

This routine continued for several days, elating yet frustrating the rest of the family. They were grateful that Adam seemed to be conscious more often and for longer periods of time, but they couldn't get him to respond to anything they said. He'd blink at the sudden brightness if someone opened the curtains quickly in the mornings, and if Joe or Ben tried to change his bandages, he'd pull back, but not if Hoss or Hop Sing did it. Now and then Joe could get him to take an extra bowl of soup, but no one else had any luck at all. And when Ben read to him, he'd sometimes turn his head towards him as if he wanted to listen, but as often he'd turn away. Most frustrating of all were the times when he simply watched them.

Hoss began to swear that his brother was deep inside somewhere, hurting, but Joe didn't agree.

"He's not there," said Joe reluctantly, one night at dinner. He stared at his roast beef, unable to stomach the thought of food. The look he gave his father was full of pain and fear. "He's gone, Pa. My brother . . . he's gone."

Ben set his fork back on his plate, food untasted as well. "We don't know that, son. It's early days, yet. Look how much progress he's already made—"

"Then why won't he talk to me? He just lies there, a lump on the bed that looks like Adam, but doesn't have anything to do with him."

"Joe," inserted Hoss after a swallow of hot coffee, "he's in there. You just gotta have patience."

"You don't know that," Joe answered. "You can't."

"I do know it. Ain't nobody gonna tell me no different."

Ben touched Joe lightly on the arm. "You just have to have faith, son."

"I can't, Pa. It hurts too much to see him lyin' there. I can't just make myself believe, like you an' Hoss."

"Little brother, I ain't makin' myself do anything. I'm tellin' you, he's in there. He's hurtin' somethin' awful, but he's in there tryin' to get out."

Joe threw his napkin on the table. "How can you know that? He doesn't talk to us. He doesn't complain about how much anything hurts. He doesn't sit up or do anything except swallow soup and water and stare at us."

"Joe, didn't you listen to nothin' the doc or Pa said? We gotta give him some time. Just keep lettin' him know we're here, an' we're doing everything we can to help him. He knows when we talk to him. He needs it."

"Hoss," Ben said, hope warring with what he was afraid were Joseph's very legitimate fears, "you're so sure. Why, son?"

Hoss looked at them both like they were crazy. "I can see it. I can see it in his eyes, in the way he watches me walk around the room. I can feel it when I do them exercises the doc wants him to do, or when I'm changin' his bandages or just sittin' there with him. He's just too wore out and pained to be much of himself right now." He waved his fork at Joe. "Don't you go givin' up on him, Joe. Don't you dare. He needs us bad an' we gotta be there for him, or he might not even try. Then you'll be proved right an' he won't never get no better, an' then how'll you feel? So you just be quiet about it all an' eat your dinner."

Ben hid a smile behind his coffee cup. It was hard not to believe right along with Hoss when he took that tone of voice. And even if he still had his own fatherly reservations, he was glad to see Joe pick up his fork and try the beef. If nothing else, Hoss was right about them needing to keep their strength up. It was an appalling thought – Adam locked away somewhere inside his mind, aware, thinking, feeling, but unable to communicate anything to them. Yet . . . he knew they could reach him, somehow. They just had to be patient and, as Hoss said, believe.