FOUR
oooooooooo
It was after nine before Adam made it back to the house. The final meeting of the day ran late – thanks to Sebastian Stephens and his blustering. This time the Eastern businessman won, but that was all right. They already had one timber contract secured and, though their father had been known to juggle two at once, with what had happened to Joe, Pa's attention was already divided.
It was strange how things turned.
Their pa had been absent more days than present recently. It was just the way things were. The year was winding down and soon the snow would fly. Everything had to be made ready and secured before that happened – including business deals. Pa's absences had been wearing on Little Joe. He was sure that was part of the reason they'd been at odds. Little Joe wasn't his child but he treated him like he was, and that was due to the fact that he was often the only 'parent' around. Hop Sing did his part but, much as they all loved and respected the Asian man, he wasn't kin. He was Joe's blood relative as well as the oldest, and so it fell to him to hand down discipline.
There were times when he would have given just about anything to be nothing more than the kid's big brother.
Adam dismounted and tethered his horse at the rail. He patted Sport's nose before heading for the house and let his trusted friend know he'd come back later and do what needed to be done. Right now he was tired and hungry and, if he cared to admit it, slightly off-balance. Stephen's words in the restaurant had unnerved him. When he reached the door, the black-haired man paused. He turned around to look at the barn; his eyes quickly moving past the building to the corral and the site of Little Joe's accident. Had it been planned? And if so, could it have been at the Easterner's behest? Since it hadn't succeeded – if…murder had been the purpose – would there be other attempts?
A chill ran along his spine as he considered it.
With a sigh, Adam opened the door and went inside. As he closed it behind him, a tired voice called out, "Hey, big brother. We thought some sidewinder up and 'et you."
Adam chuckled as he hung his hat on the rack. "No. Just a long day." He turned and glanced around. "Where's Pa?"
"Where do you think?"
He'd been dreading this moment. "How is Joe doing?"
A single tear ran down the big teen's cheek.
"Hoss? Dear Lord! What….?"
"Little Joe cain't..." His brother sucked in air like someone too long deprived. "Adam…Little Joe cain't walk. He cain't feel his legs."
"What did Paul say?"
Hoss rolled his eyes. "What he always says. That we gotta wait and see."
Adam considered launching into an explanation of how swelling affected a person's recovery and how, until it went down, it was often hard to tell the full extent of a person's injuries. He was a scholar. He'd read medical journals and he loved words. Hoss was not and did not. Hoss was a boy worried that his beloved baby brother would never again be able to do the things he loved.
In truth, so was he.
Adam crossed over to his brother and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know it's hard, Hoss, but it's true. It will probably be days – maybe even weeks – before Joe heals enough to know if the paralysis is temporary or…permanent."
His voice quaked on that last one.
"Good. Mistah Adam home. He come eat now before he go to bed and sleep. Need keep up strength," a soft voice chided.
Adam turned to find Hop Sing in his customary spot, beside the dining room table. He was in his evening clothes – soft silk pants and a long tastefully embroidered dark blue shirt trimmed with gold. The matching trim on his slippers sparked in the lamp light as he moved forward, leaving trails of fire. These was the times when he wondered about the Asian man and who and what he had been before he came to them. Hop Sing was pretty close about his past, even with Pa. They didn't know all that much about him other than the fact that he had family in the settlement, including his father, Hop Ling. He was in his late thirties, old enough to have – or have had – his own family. The way he took care of them – the skills he had – suggested he'd had some training in the medical as well as culinary arts. He was ever efficient, always kind, and brutally practically. Adam grinned. The Asian man reminded him of a mother hen under whose silky feathers beat the heart of a dragon.
"I had something in the settlement before I left, Hop Sing. Thank you, but I'd just like to go up and see how Joe is."
"Doctor with Little Joe. You sit down. Eat." Hop Sing's gaze moved to Hoss. "Brother eat with you. He not have anything since breakfast."
"Hop Sing!" Hoss snapped. "I done told you I ain't…" The big teen stopped, aghast. "Sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you."
"The Doc's still here?" Adam asked. "I didn't see his buggy."
"Buggy in barn. Doctor stay…for now."
Adam suddenly felt weak in the knees.
A hand caught his elbow and steadied him. "Boy go to table. Eat. No good to father if he fall down."
He nodded. "Thanks. I think I will." Then he looked at his brother. "Come on, Hoss. We can nag each other into eating."
Hoss ran a hand through his sandy hair. "Okay. I guess not eatin' ain't helpin' Little Joe none. It just feels…well…wrong when I know he's layin' up there feelin' so sad."
"I know."
As the two of them sat down, Hop Sing brought in a plate of bread and butter, some slices of ham, and two slices of apple pie. He left and returned quickly with a pitcher of milk and two glasses.
Adam smiled as the Asian man put the pitcher down. "Do you ever sleep?" he asked with a wry smile.
"Hop Sing sleep. Have ears like bat. That way he know when needed."
He was tired. His usual barriers were down.
"Well, you're very much needed here," he said.
Their cook's eyes narrowed. He nodded, and then disappeared.
"I think you embarrassed him," Hoss said as he reached for the milk.
"No. I think there's more to it than that, though I'm not sure what."
"He was right, you know?" Hoss asked as he took a bite of bread. "I do feel better eatin'."
The usual banter came to mind, but it seemed out of place. Instead, Adam nodded.
"Hop Sing is always right."
oooooooooo
Doctor Paul Martin turned away from the small boy on the bed to look at his father. Ben sat in the chair by the window watching the sun set. It had been five years, but it felt no more than a day since he'd been in this house, in another room, doing the same thing; preparing himself to tell a grieving husband that his beloved wife had breathed her last. Time was a curious thing. It seemed he'd known the sleeping boy forever, but felt like it had been less than a heartbeat since the last time Marie had flung the door to the ranch house open and greeted him with one of her effervescent smiles.
He was getting old.
As he knew it would, the slight shift he made on the bed was a signal to the boy's father.
"Paul?"
The physician closed his eyes for a moment, then inclined his head toward the door. 'Let's talk outside,' he mouthed.
Ben rose slowly. He crossed over to the bed first, where he brushed back a few curls to plant a kiss on his young son's forehead, and then followed him out of the room.
"Is there something you wanted to say that you didn't want Joseph to hear?" Ben asked, his tone wary.
"No. I just didn't want to disturb him. As you know, he fought taking the medication that last time." He paused. "Ben, I'm going to be honest with you. Little Joe is in a great deal of pain. He won't admit it, but then again, that boy never does."
"And?"
"Pain is a strange creature. It's a thing of the body, mind, and soul. A human trinity, if you will. If it's not controlled, pain can wear a man – or a boy down. It becomes its own kind of injury. Joe needs rest. Lots of rest to recover."
"Is there anything else you can do for him?"
He shook his head. "Not now. Maybe, once the swelling has gone down. For now it's a waiting game, and waiting is simply not in the vocabulary of Little Joe Cartwright."
Ben ran a hand over his stubbled chin and sighed. "No, it's not."
"I'm going to head into the settlement to check my office and on my other patients. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon at the latest."
The rancher swung toward him, "Oh? Oh, all right."
"Here's my prescription for the entire family. First of all, keep that pain medication in Joseph. His concussion is moderate and he's been awake enough that I think that worry is past. He'll have headaches, maybe experience blurred vision for a time…." Paul smiled. "You know the drill."
Ben laughed. There had been far too many concussion in this household full of men.
"All right."
"Joseph needs to sleep – you all need to sleep and eat and take care of yourselves. The days ahead are going to be trying."
"You don't think Joseph will regain the use of his legs, do you?" Ben asked, a shadow of despair in his tone.
"I think no such thing. I am not thinking beyond today and that's what you must learn to do to." The physician indicated the door. "And teach that young scamp in there to do as well. See this as an opportunity, Ben, not a set-back. Use it to make Joseph a better man – no matter the outcome."
His friend stared at him a moment and then nodded. "Thanks, Paul."
He placed a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Easy for me to say. I'm not his father."
The sound of someone clearing their throat made them both turn toward the end of the hall.
"Hello, Adam," Paul said.
Adam's look was almost shy as he greeted them. "Doc. …Pa."
He'd forgotten. Adam had just returned. The boy was probably wondering if his father was angry with him for leaving.
Gracious as ever, Ben asked, "How did things go in the settlement, son?"
"Stephens got the high country timber contract. Everything else went our way."
"You're growing into quite the entrepreneur yourself, Adam," the doctor remarked.
The boy nodded at the compliment. A heartbeat later, he asked, "How's Little Joe doing? Can I see him?"
Paul exchanged a look with Ben, who gave a barely noticeable nod.
"You can sit with him," he said in his best 'doctor' voice. "Just don't wake him And Ben – you get some sleep!"
The rancher shot him a dark look and then straightened up and saluted. "Ay, Aye, Captain!" he said with mock formality.
Paul began the familiar trek down the hall shaking his head.
If he was a ship's captain, he knew he'd have to keel-haul his old friend later.
Adam eyed his father a moment before saying in a gentle tone, "Pa, Paul's right, You look exhausted."
The older man ran a hand along the back of his neck. "I am exhausted, but I can't sleep." His weary gaze went to Joe's bedroom door. "Not yet, anyhow."
"Hoss told me about Joe's legs. That he can't feel them."
"Or move them. Your brother was in a panic. Paul had to sedate him."
He knew how hard that had to have been on his father. "Has he been awake since then?"
"He tried to come up out of it, but Paul put him under again. He regretted it, but said Joe's violent movements and attempts to get up could cause greater injury to his spine. He's not sure, but he thinks one of the vertebrae has a hairline fracture." Pa made a face. "If it breaks…."
"God, Pa. Joe's only ten. He can't understand. He's going to panic the minute he's awake."
"Somehow…." Pa drew in a great breath of air and sighed it out. "Somehow we have to get through to him. You know, son, God allows these things for a reason. This is a testing point in your brother's mettle."
His father knew his views on God were slightly less…altruistic….when it came to this kind of thing, and it was out before he could stop it.
"What if Joe never walks again?"
The pain his question caused his father brought him instant shame.
"Sorry, Pa. I'm tired. I didn't think."
"No, it's all right. In the end, that may be exactly where we are." The older man thought a moment. "Our criterion – the standards by which we measure a man are flawed. We put more value on a pair of working legs than on the mind or heart of the individual. God sees things differently. Sometimes God gives us a thorn – something we dearly wish to pluck from our flesh – because it is His tool to form a man into someone who can live a life to His glory."
Adam thought about his father, a man who had lost three wives, who had seen hardship and experienced near starvation; who at one time had nothing and now had been given so much.
"Your brother Joseph, as dearly as I love the little scamp, has many lessons to learn; patience and prudence among them. He lives each day at a breakneck pace. This may be God's way of teaching him that cannot continue."
Adam mulled that over for a moment. If what he suspected was true – if Joe's 'accident' had been no accident – would Pa still feel the same way? Was this one of those instances of the Almighty using a man's evil for the good of those who loved Him?
After a moment, his father said, "You look tired, son. Once you check in on Joseph, you should get some rest."
"Before I turn in, I'd like to go over the day's events with you – if you aren't too worn out."
Pa placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm wide awake. I think I'll make a toddy and have a smoke. Would you like one?"
Thinking of his saddle-sore rear end and the numbing effect of his father's brandy, he nodded. "Thanks, Pa."
His father lifted his hand, briefly touched his cheek, and was gone.
Adam turned to look at his baby brother's door. He steeled himself by taking several breaths before opening it and stepping in.
The room was dark with the exception of a lamp turned low on the table next to Little Joe's bed. Joe was on his back, which was an unusual thing to see. He was usually twisted up in his covers like one of Mrs. Hoffmeister's German pretzels. There was no pillow under the little boy's head and the sheets beneath him were undisturbed.
Adam wished he could have said the same thing for himself.
Little Joe was one of those 'bonny' kids as a Scottish neighbor of theirs liked to say. His skin was naturally golden with fairly high color in the cheeks and lips. He had wide expressive eyes that looked at the world with wonder and were wonderfully well-equipped at getting him out of trouble. Joe's hair was golden-brown now, though the odds were it would grow darker as he aged. His hair was a riotous, reckless, glistening tumble of spiraling curls as out of control as its owner.
Right now the owner of those curls lay still. The sound of Little Joe's unnaturally slow breathing filled the room. His brother's skin was the color of a morning without sun; those glistening curls dull as unpolished metal.
Adam drew a breath as he sat down in the chair next to his brother's bed. For a moment, he simply stared at him. Then he reached out and took hold of one of Joe's pallid hands. They lay perfectly crossed on his brother's chest giving the kid the appearance of a corpse.
He couldn't take it.
Careful to keep his touch light, Adam brushed a few curls from his brother's forehead. A tear slid down his cheek as he did. The words he spoke were soul-sore. "I'm sorry, Joe. This should never have happened. I should have stopped it."
He didn't expect a response, but he got one. Baby brother's sooty eyelashes fluttered against his parchment-white skin. Joe licked his lips.
"Thirsty," he said in the voice that belonged to someone other than his brother.
"I'll get you some water, buddy," Adam replied as he reached for the pitcher on the bedside table. Lifting Joe's head, he helped him to drink.
"…thanks…."
That was Joe all over. He'd probably thank a bank robber for holding the door open while he ushered him out as a hostage.
"You okay, buddy? You need anything?"
He waited. Just about the time he decided Joe was out for good, his brother spoke again.
"Where's...Pa?"
"He'll be back any time. Pa went to get a drink. He was thirsty too."
Joe's nod was nearly imperceptible. He remained silent for a few heartbeats and then said, "Sorry. I shouldn't have…." The kid winced as if the pain he felt was beginning to penetrate the drugged stupor he was in. "…stupid…."
Adam glanced at a second cup beside the bed. It had the remnants of a muddied white liquid in it. Beside it lay several folded papers with a substance inside. No doubt they were pain medication. He frowned, unsure as to whether or not he should give his brother another dose.
"Hey, little buddy. Are you in pain?"
Joe's lips curled up at the ends. "…gave me…a…kiss."
"Who?" he asked, expecting the answer to be 'Mama'.
"Cochise."
That was a new one.
"Who's Cochise?"
The smile broadened. "…my…hero…."
Then, before he could ask another question, Little Joe lost the fight to stay awake.
Adam remained where he was, holding his baby brother's hand. People thought he didn't like physical contact. They were wrong. He respected it. People touched too easily. It meant too…little. This moment, sitting here, connected to his ailing brother, was powerful.
Several minutes later Adam broke away and left the room.
oooooooooo
Ben heard his eldest son coming down the steps before he saw him. Adam had to be as exhausted as he was. His oldest boy was a thinking man of action, weaned on hard times and bred of a deep self-imposed sense of responsibility and duty. It would have been hard for him to make the choice between remaining behind to protect his little brother and going to the settlement to see to the needs of the ranch in order to secure their future. The down-payments from the contracts Adam negotiated would get them through the winter by providing for necessities
Like a walking chair for his baby boy.
Ben shuddered. His words to his eldest son had been sagacious and serene.
He was anything but inside.
"Your toddy's on the stove in the office," he said as Adam headed for him.
"Thanks, Pa." The boy went to get it and then returned to take his accustomed seat in the blue chair on the far side of the hearth. He took a sip and savored it, then took another and leaned back to let it slide down. "That's good." A second later his son shot him a look. "You didn't make it, did you?"
Ben laughed. "No. Hop Sing did."
"I don't mean any disrespect, Pa, but your toddies, well, they taste like they were meant to keep a sailor from getting scurvy."
He laughed. "As they were!"
They sat in companionable silence for a while after that, each lost in their thoughts, until the rancher decided he'd best get the day's business over with.
"So we've secured the larger of the timber contracts and the one with the army. Other than Sebastian, did everyone else seem content with the process?"
Adam nodded as he took another sip. "Yes. There was the usual grousing and good-natured banter. No one seemed upset."
Ben sensed something. "Other than Sebastian."
Adam put his glass on the table. "What do you know about him, Pa?"
"Not much. He keeps his past pretty close. He was born in the East, Boston, I think, and came out West with the rush to California. He was one of the lucky ones who found gold and managed to keep it, though now that I know him, I wonder what his methods of 'retention' were."
"Does he have a family? Is he married?"
Ben finished his glass off and put it on his chair-side table. "He's never said. He mentioned a daughter once. Deceased, I think. Why?"
"Just trying to figure him out."
Ben snorted. "Good luck with that."
"He's been in the area about a year, right?"
"About. Maybe a little less. Sebastian showed up on the stage one day. He took a room at the hotel and began to buy up as much property as he could. Then he moved on to mines and timber."
"He's got horses too."
"Yes, and men who know what to do with them. I don't think I've ever seen him ride."
"I guess that's what money gets you. Everything you desire." Adam paused. "But, in the end, maybe nothing you want."
"Adam, where is this going?"
His son rose to his feet and walked over to the fire. Adam's hand found a purchase on the stones as he gazed into it. For a long time he was silent.
"Pa, I…think Sebastian Stephens may have been behind Little Joe's 'accident'."
If Adam had told him that a two-ton pink grizzly had just waltzed into the great room wearing a tutu, he could not have been more surprised.
"What?"
Adam looked at him under his arm. "He threatened me."
"Who? Sebastian? At the meeting?"
"No. Afterwards. I was eating lunch at the place where Rosanna works."
Ben drew a steadying breath. "I see. Did he tell you he had something to do with what happened to your brother?"
Adam moved to the table before the fire and took a seat directly opposite him. "Not in so many words. He asked about Little Joe and said to give you his sympathies."
"I'll admit that's surprising, but it's not a threat."
Adam's lips twitched "It's not. That's what came next. He said, 'One of the most tragic things in the world is for a father to have to bury a son'."
A chill ran through him from stem to stern.
Ben swallowed hard over his rising anger. "He said that?"
"Pa, I think Adam may be right," a new voice remarked, startling them both. Ben turned to find Hoss exiting the kitchen. His middle son had his coat on and looked to be heading outside.
"I wondered where you were, son," he remarked.
"Ah heck, I was helping Hop Sing in the kitchen since, well, you know, Little Joe cain't do his usual chores. Bringin' in wood and such. I gotta go out and get me some more wood."
"What do you mean, you think I may be right?" Adam asked.
Hoss joined them. "I ain't had time to tell neither of you yet. Pratt Shade found a dead snake in the corral. Figured that was what caused the horses to spook."
"A snake is unusual in the yard, but not unheard of," Ben said.
"I know, Pa. It was just that it was a ground snake. You know? The kind you find in a meadow or lazing by the side of a lake." Hoss smiled. "Cochise sure did him in good."
"Cochise?" Adam asked. "Joe mentioned a 'Cochise'."
"Was your brother awake?" Ben started to rise. "We have to keep him still –"
"It's okay, Pa. I stayed until I was sure he was under again. He was thirsty."
Ben sat back down.
"So who is Cochise?"
Hoss smiled. "That's the name little brother done gave that paint horse, the one what saved him."
Adam looked puzzled. "But it's a mare."
"And Little Joe's ten," the big teen replied. "you go ask him what he's thinkin'."
That made them all laugh, though they sobered quickly enough at the thought that Little Joe might never get to ride that horse – or any other.
Ben's brow furrowed. "So, what we have is a suspicious accident, and a veiled threat that it might not have been an accident. That's not much to go to Sheriff Olin on."
"I'll talk to him when I go into the settlement tomorrow," Adam said. "Just to make Robert aware of our suspicions."
"In the meantime, I need you two to be extra cautious."
Both of them stared at him open-mouthed. Almost as one, they demanded 'Why?'.
"Because Sebastian Stephens' threat was open-ended," he said. "No father should have to bury a son." He looked pointedly from Adam to Hoss. "He didn't say 'which' son."
"But Joe…" his eldest protested.
Ben shivered. "Could be just the first."
oooooooooo
Hop Sing retreated from the threshold of the dining room. The things he'd heard disturbed him. It disturbed him even more to know that there was nothing he could do, and so he chose to go back to doing what he knew. There were many tasks to be completed before he could lay down his head. There were dishes to be cleaned. Bread and other food must be prepared. The Asian man's gaze went to the stove, A good-size pot, brimful with steaming water, sat upon it. Boiling in the pot were strips of linen that had been used to soak up the blood of his beloved son. On her death bed Missy Marie had made him promise to keep her Petit Joseph safe; to love and care for him as if he was his own.
It was sacred vow and one he would keep so long as he drew breath.
The task before him was difficult. Not because the heavy cloths were hot and must wrung out by hand. This is not what he dreaded. What he dreaded was carrying the pot to the door and throwing the water out – water red with Little Joe's life energy. This should not be. It felt like he was throwing a part of the boy away and this was something he would never do. He would not give up on Mistah Cartwright's number three son, nor would he let the boy's father or his brothers. They must not grow weary – they must not despair – no matter how long it took for the ten-year-old to run like the wind once more.
As Little Joe would.
Hop Sing closed the door and returned the pot to the stove before heading for the mountain of wet linens that were ready for the wringer. Quietly, thoroughly, the Asian man ran the cloths through the wood and metal device one by one. Such repetition gave him time to think, and this day he chose to think of how he had come to be in this house with the good man whose children he loved as his own.
When a young man, he came from China and chose to live in California. Bad choices were made and he was forced to run. He was Chinese and work was not to be found. In the end, he sold himself to a man and became indentured. Mistah Cartwright found him working for this cruel master and bought his freedom. Hop Sing smiled as he placed a stack of linens on the table. Missy Marie was a beautiful woman with many talents. Sadly, cooking was not one of them. The Asian man continued to smile as he went back to turning the crank. Or, perhaps gladly. Missy Cartwright had given birth and she was weary. The labor was not easy for her or for her small son. Both needed much rest and care. Mistah Ben hired him to cook, but soon found he had other gifts. He helped both mother and son with the knowledge he had of Chinese medicine.
The crank stopped in his hand. Hop Sing sighed.
Even so had come the beginning of his woes.
The Asian man's gaze shifted to the back wall of the kitchen. He remained still, lost in thought for a moment, and then left the wringer to cross over to it and stepped into the shadows cast by a massive oak cupboard. There, on the wall, was his personal shrine. In the shrine were many things: flower petals, a wooden box, spices, and several images. One, in shuǐ-mò ink and wash, was of his great-parents. The second Mistah Ben had given him of Missy Marie after her death. Behind these two – tucked safely away where no one would see – lay a gilded locket. Inside the locket was the portrait of a woman. He did not name her for fear she would haunt him.
The fear was foolish, for she haunted him still.
Removing the locket, Hop Sing wrapped the gold chain about his fingers, and then opened it so he could look upon the face of the one he had loved. A moment later he snapped it shut and returned it to the shrine. Then he returned to the wringer and began to work.
Work was all he had now.
oooooooooo