Whispers in Silence -- 11
by BeckyS
15 Nov 2004

The late afternoon sun was gilding the bedcovers before Adam stirred. Aroused from his preoccupation, Ben lifted his son's hand and held it gently while he watched Adam wake. A deep sigh, a slight curling of his fingers around Ben's palm, then, eyes still closed, he tried to shift onto his side. Ben helped him ease forward onto his right hip and resettled the blankets over him. When he sat down again, he saw that Adam was watching him.

His son was calm, his face showing an alertness that Ben hadn't seen since before the accident.

Adam raised an eyebrow.

"It's true," Ben answered. "For some reason, you can't talk right now. Paul says it has something to do with the injury to your brain."

Adam squinted, as if he was having trouble following.

Ben realized he might not know what had happened. He spoke at a steady pace, almost leisurely. "You know that you've been ill."

Adam nodded once, a slow, careful movement.

"You were hurt in an accident." He paused, and when Adam seemed to be waiting, he continued. "There was a cave-in at the mine. You were hurt by the rocks coming down."

It was getting harder, he could see it.

"One of the rocks hit you on the side of the head."

Adam squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them and cricked his head to the side, as if to shake off a thought.

"Do you understand what I said?" Ben held his breath, praying. This was the most complicated thing he'd asked of his son since he'd been hurt.

Adam was trying, he could see it, but he also knew his son very well, and he could see by the tenseness of his mouth that he hadn't gotten all of it.

"Let me try again."

Adam shook his head. No.

"Son?"

This time it was an almost angry chop of his left hand downward. No!

Ben sat back in his chair, surprised, but pleased that Adam was showing a definite opinion about something. Now if they could just figure out a way to talk . . . he waited as patiently as he could.

Eventually Adam pointed at Ben, then held his single finger up in the air.

"What is it?"

He pointed again and scowled.

"Me?"

Adam nodded and held his finger up again.

"One."

Again, he pointed at Ben and held up his finger. Then he pointed at his own chest and held up two fingers.

Ben thought for a moment. "I'm one, and you're two?"

Adam sighed and his face relaxed. He raised his hand slowly, higher and higher until he was pointing almost to the ceiling, then held up three fingers.

"If I'm one," Ben said thoughtfully, "and you're two, then three must be . . . Hoss?"

Adam nodded.

"And Joe is four."

Adam grinned, and Ben smiled back. "Then what is Hop Sing?"

Adam thought for a moment, then with a sly smile, he pulled his fingers together as if he were holding something and rotated his hand at the wrist, for all the world like he was stirring a pot of stew.

Ben laughed, delighted.

"And me?" Paul Martin said from the doorway.

He got a scowl and a finger poked in his direction several times. Paul burst out laughing. "All right, I get the idea. You're tired of being poked and prodded."

Adam reached out to his father and tapped his leg. When Ben turned back, he held up four fingers, a wistful expression on his face.

"You want Joe?" Ben asked.

Adam nodded. His face got very serious. He pointed at the doctor, then held up four fingers again. He waved his hand, still holding his fingers together, to the chair where Ben was sitting. He frowned, concentrating hard, as if he could will his father to understand.

"You want Joe, and you want Joe to sit here. And something about the doctor."

Adam squinted, a look that Ben was beginning to recognize as meaning that Adam wasn't understanding everything he was saying. He turned to Paul. "Can you figure out what he wants?"

Paul frowned as he thought. "Something about me and Joe."

Adam nodded and flapped his hand in the doctor's direction.

Ben took a deep breath. "This is like playing charades," he said, exasperated.

"Whatever works, Ben. It's as close as we've come to really talking to him."

Adam tapped his father again, held up his four fingers, and jabbed them towards the chair.

"He wants Joseph; that's clear enough." Ben rose. "That much, at least, I can do."

Adam sighed and closed his eyes, and as if exhausted by the exchange, he sank down into the pillows.

"I wonder . . ." Paul muttered.

Ben cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Downstairs," Paul said.

Ben nodded, and after a final tug of the covers over Adam's shoulder and a light stroke of his hair, led the way out. They were both silent as they went down the stairs, and when they reached the bottom, Paul headed for the settee while Ben went to the sideboard and retrieved the bottle of brandy and two glasses. He set them on the table in front of the fire, poured two generous measures, and settled with his into his favorite chair.

"What do you suppose he really wants?" he asked.

Paul swirled his brandy in the glass and inhaled the aroma. "Do you have those journals handy? The ones where you were keeping track of his progress?"

Ben set his glass on the table. "They're over there by my desk. There are two of them; which do you want?"

"The second, I think."

Ben retrieved both of them and handed one over, keeping the other for himself. "What are you looking for?" he asked as the doctor started thumbing through the pages.

"Hmm," Paul answered.

Ben resigned himself to waiting patiently. He'd gotten lost in his thoughts again when the door opened and Joe came in.

"Hey, Doc," he said in welcome as he hung up his hat. He didn't take off his jacket or gunbelt, but came over to his father's side instead. "How's Adam doing?"

"Better," Ben answered. "We're just trying to figure out what he wants."

Joe blinked. "Wants? You mean he asked for something?"

"In a way. We just don't understand all of it yet." Ben waved at him. "Take off your jacket, son; you're not going anywhere."

"But, Pa, I was—"

"You're finished for the day, son." Ben watched the expressions flit across his youngest's face, confusion the largest part. He softened his voice. "Adam wants you."

Joe's eyes shot to the top of the stairs, then flew back to his father. "How," he swallowed, "how do you know?"

Ben smiled. "It appears that I'm Cartwright number one, your oldest brother is Cartwright number two, Hoss is number three, and you are number four." He raised four fingers. "Adam wants number four."

Joe grinned with delight and started stripping off his jacket. "He told you that? He really told you that?"

"Well, it wasn't that easy, but yes."

He took his holster off, too, and strode to the credenza by the door to put them away. His steps slowed on the way back, though. "But why? I mean, I'm happy to sit with him, but what does he want?"

"I don't know," Ben answered.

"I think," inserted Paul, "that he might want Joe to explain what's going on."

Joe sank down onto the other end of the settee. "But I don't know what's going on. And why me?"

"I'm not sure," Paul admitted, "but judging by these journals, you've had the most success getting through to him."

Ben firmly squashed a small pang of jealousy. It didn't matter who Adam would listen to, as long as he'd listen to someone.

"For some reason, I suppose it's the concussion again, he seems to miss part of what the rest of us say to him. Maybe it's something about your voice or the way you talk to him – I don't know and at this point I don't really care. But I'd like to explain to you what I know, and then you try telling him. Let's see how far we can go with this."

Joe nodded and sat down. "Okay, give it a shot, and then I'll see what I can do."