FIVE
oooooooooo
It was as if the natural world knew what they were facing.
Ben Cartwright stood on his porch wearing his thickest, heaviest coat, with the collar pulled up around his throat to ward off the chill, coffee cup in hand. It was late September, not an unheard of time for old man winter to make his presence known, but not a common one either. It was early in the morning and he'd risen to see his son off. He feared for Adam, making the twenty mile trek to the settlement on his own, so he'd made up an excuse and sent two of the men along with him 'to bring back some much needed supplies'. His son saw right through his ruse but said nothing. He was a good boy.
They were all good boys and he loved them more than life.
Ben took a sip of coffee and relished the warmth as it trailed down his throat and into his gullet. He'd been surprised to find a thin sheen of ice on the water in the trough that morning as well as a layer of frost glazing the pummeled grass of the yard. Waxing poetic, Adam had quoted something about an 'untimely dew upon the fairest flower'. The rancher knew it would only be a day, maybe two, before they were back to autumn weather, but for now, that 'untimely frost' suited his mood.
Joseph still could not feel his legs.
Where the day before the boy had railed and screamed and cried his heart out, thrashing and fighting them to prove that he could make his legs work and would get out of bed on his own, today he was silent. While the injury to his forehead was still a cause for concern, Little Joe's other cuts and abrasions seemed to be healing nicely and with no sign of infection. Considering how long he had lain in the mud, that in itself was a miracle! During the short time Joseph had been awake, he'd talked to the boy and he'd admitted to experiencing headaches and – thank God! – only a slight amount of nausea. Paul had ordered absolute bed rest so the possible fracture in Little Joe's vertebrae had time to heal. When he thought of the violence a severe bout of nausea would bring, it chilled him. The boy had eaten very little since the accident. There was nothing to vomit and the dry heaves….
He closed his eyes. 'Don't borrow trouble, Ben Cartwright', he told himself. 'Let the days troubles be sufficient for the day.'
Reluctantly, in the early hours of morning, he'd fed the boy the pain medication Paul had left behind and watched him drift off into an untroubled sleep. It bothered him to constantly drug his young son even if he needed it. He missed Joseph's voice, his irascible nature; the constant arguments and defiant stares – his son's touch.
He missed his son.
"Hey, Pa. You okay?"
Ben opened his eyes and looked toward the barn. Hoss was standing before him with a hammer and a bucket of nails in his hands.
"I'm fine, son."
"Thinkin' about Little Joe?" the teen asked as he came closer.
"Yes. And about all of you. You be careful out there today." Hoss was going out to one of the far flung pastures to mend fences before the snow flew.
'Aw, shucks, Pa. I'll be fine." The big teen put the bucket down and tugged on his gloves. "It sure is colder than a miner's toe out here."
"Is Pratt going with you?"
"Yes, sir. Bush too, if that's okay."
He looked at the teen. "Both of them?"
"Pratt was out riding fence last night. He said some of the poles was knocked down and took the wire with them. Bush's gonna go to the settlement to get some more wire and then he's gonna meet us up there."
Ben considered it. There was nothing suspicious about it other than the fact that Pratt was the last one to talk to Joseph before his 'accident'. But then, if both were going and they knew he knew about it, it was unlikely they would try anything.
"All right. Keep a close watch on them."
Hoss frowned at him. 'You think they had somethin' to do with what happened to Little Joe?"
"I don't know." Ben ran a hand over his eyes. "I don't know what I think. But for the moment – for your old beleaguered father – please be careful."
The big teen grinned. When Hoss did that, it reminded him so of Inger with her easy smile.
"Heck, Pa. I'm always careful, don't you know that? I gotta be with those two ornery brothers I got." Hoss sobered. "You tell Little Joe I'm thinkin' about him next time he wakes up, and I'll be up to see him soon as I get back. Okay?"
"I will."
With a casual wave of his hand and a hearty, "See you later, Pa!", Hoss was on his way. Ben watched as the teenager met up with Pratt Shade who was coming out of the barn and then turned back toward the house. He'd heard the door open.
Hop Sing was standing in it.
"Mistah Ben go away?"
He looked down at his coat. "I was going to go out and check in with a few of the men while Joseph slept."
"Little Joe awake. Boy refuse to eat. You come. Make number three son eat."
It was always a struggle with Joseph whenever he was ill to get the boy to eat anything. Still, somehow, he knew this was different.
"Very stubborn boy when he make up mind. Make mind up not to eat." His cook and friend paused. "Think maybe too, he make mind up not to live."
Ben closed his eyes. "I'll come in. Give me a moment."
What could he say to his son? What did you say to a ten-year-old boy on the cusp of turning eleven, who'd had his life altered in a single moment in such an unimaginable way? He knew the platitudes. He'd spoken them to Adam. 'Everything is in God's will. This was given to you to overcome, son, to become a stronger, better man.' Little Joe didn't want to be a man. He wanted to be a boy – a carefree, happy, physically fit, active and mobile boy and that had been taken away from him.
'For the time being', he reminded himself.
And that was what he had to make Joseph understand.
oooooooooo
Joe Cartwright raised his head up as high as he could without puking, looked down his straight covers at his immobile legs, and willed them to move. He couldn't actually see them – or feel them – but he could see the places where his toes pushed the blankets up in a kind of teepee, so he knew they were there. Never in his short life had he come across something he couldn't accomplish if he put his mind to it.
But they didn't move.
With a shallow sigh – any deeper and it hurt – Joe balled his fingers into fists and tried again. All that accomplished was to send pain shooting through his head like an arrow loosed from the bow by an Apache warrior. And it hit its mark. Seconds later he broke out in a sweat. His breaths came fast and hard. He was gonna puke.
He wasn't gonna puke!
"Joseph? I'll be there in a moment, son."
The voice riding down the corridor was a balm and a blister at the same time. Joe loved his pa – he wanted him at his side – but he was mad at him. All Doctor Martin and Pa did was feed him that awful tasting gritty white liquid to make him sleep. Like sleeping was going to change things! The last time Pa pressed that glass to his lips, he'd pretended to swallow while holding the liquid in his cheeks and spit it out the minute he was alone. It still put him to sleep, but he was able to wake up after only a few hours and it was then he'd started trying to make his legs move. He'd kept at it until he exhausted himself and had to sleep again. Then, when he woke up and started back in, Hop Sing came in and wanted him to eat. A feller couldn't eat when he was concentratin'! He knew he'd scared Hop Sing when he refused to say anything. Hop Sing probably thought he was givin' up. He wasn't. He was a Cartwright and no one and nothing was going to keep him down!
Joe looked down the long line of unrumpled blankets covering him.
No one…and nothing.
Unless, of course, that professor who had come through a year or so back was wrong and mind over matter didn't work.
Joe's mood swung one hundred and eighty degrees in the opposite direction. Tears flooded his eyes. He was never gonna walk again. He'd been kind of awake when Pa and the doctor were standing by his bed talking so low they thought no one could hear. He'd heard words like 'paralysis' and 'crutches' and even worse, 'walking chair'. The doc had talked about how he might not be able to take care of….what needed taking care of for himself anymore. Someone might have to do it for him. There was another word. One that scared him most of all.
Asylum.
Joe sucked in snot and tears. He gritted his teeth and swallowed over his fear. With his fists clenched, he reared up as far as he could and shouted so loud God in Heaven couldn't have missed it.
"HULLY GEE! MOVE, YOU BLAM JAM DAMN LEGS! MOVE!"
The door flew open a second later and he knew he was in trouble. Pa looked like he'd had one of them apocalyptic fits.
"Joseph!"
He wondered if he could fake puking just to get some sympathy.
oooooooooo
Ben stifled his urge to shout 'hallelujah!'
"I will not have that kind of language in my house, young man!" he said, careful to keep his tone stern.
Little Joe looked sheepish – and wonderfully awake.
"Sorry, Pa," he replied, meek as a mouse.
Ben sat on the side of the bed and reached out to brush the rampant curls from his son's forehead. Still masking his smile with mock anger, he demanded, "Now, tell me, Joseph. Where have you heard that kind of language?"
Little Joe's nose wrinkled. "From the horses?"
He couldn't help it. He laughed out loud. "Which one?"
His son thought a moment. "Adam's."
Ben wanted to stand up and dance a jig. Here was his son – his obstinate, fiery, determined, and slightly exasperating son.
He thought he'd lost him.
He might still.
"Oh, I see, Adam's. Well, I'll admit Sport can be a little…testy at times." Ben's hand cupped his son's chin. "How are you, boy?"
Little Joe glared at him – for about two seconds before his lower lip started to tremble. "I'm okay, Pa. Don't…you worry."
He hated to do it, but he moved his hand and laid it on one of his son's legs. "Can you feel that?"
Joe bit the lip and shook his head.
He moved his hand to the other leg. "How about this one?"
Another shake. Slower and more deliberate this time.
He took the boy's head in both hands so he couldn't turn away as he spoke. "That doesn't mean you won't ever feel them again. Do you understand?"
Little Joe remained still.
"Joseph, do you believe what I am saying?"
The boy swallowed a couple of times. A tear trailed down his cheek. "I don't know."
Ben sat back. "Well, that's honest. I can deal with honesty."
"Pa, what if…" His son's eyes went to the hand that lay on top of his leg. "What if it don't come back? What if I can't…ever…walk? Will my legs shrivel up like Mister Benson's?"
Carl Benson was a veteran of the Mexican War who had a bullet cut through his spine. He was lucky to be alive. His legs had shriveled to the size of a child's – about the size of Joe's. Poor Benson had taken to liquor to satisfy his despair.
Ben's fingers gripped his son's leg as a vision of this boy – now, a man – living a life of waste and desolation flashed before his eyes.
To his surprise, he felt small fingers on his arm.
"It's okay, Pa."
The dam brook.
The rancher did all he could do to stop the ensuing flood, but there was nothing to do but to let the waters of grief and guilt and remorse wash over him. The tears started as a stream but were soon a river. He wanted to run, to flee – to do anything to keep Joseph from seeing him as he was – but a still small voice told him to be a man and remain.
He was okay with that until he began to sob.
Joe was sitting up. He shouldn't be sitting up, but he was. His small son had used his hands to haul his body forward enough to encircle him with his arms.
"Don't cry, Pa," he whispered as he patted his back. "It'll be all right."
His own words. His own damn words, spoken with such easy assurance so many times in the midst of the tempest of so many tragedies. They were useless – false – filled with a hope that remained unfulfilled. Elizabeth. Inger. Marie.
Marie's boy.
"You'll see, Pa. I'll walk again. I will!"
He was still waiting for the calm after the storm, but for the most part, the tempest had passed. "Joseph, I…. Just a moment." Ben rose and went to his son's washstand and tossed water on his face. He almost lost it a second time as the realization struck him that even that simple action might lay outside of the life given to his third boy. After drying his face and his tears with a towel, Ben returned to the bed and sat by his son's side.
His son looked…scared.
He took his tiny hand in his own. "Son, I…. I should have been here."
"When I was cleaning out the stalls?"
The absurdity of it struck him. He nodded. "Yes."
"Pa. You can't be here all the time and if..if I hadn't done what I knew I oughtn't to have done, I wouldn't be in this pickle."
They'd never discussed what happened. Welcoming the change of subject, the rancher asked, "What do you remember?"
Little Joe lay against the bed sheets. His son had barely more color than they did, but he was awake – and alive!
"Not much," he said after a minute. "I wanted to see Cochise…." His boy's eyes flicked to his face. "I wanted to see the paint. She likes me, Pa."
"Go on."
"I remember being in the barn doin' my chores and then talking to her. That's about it."
Ben frowned. "You don't remember anything about something dropping out of the open barn door?"
Joe frowned too. "No. Did it?"
He ignored that. "Do you remember Pratt Shade talking to you before you went into the corral?"
The frown deepened. Joe shook his head and then winced.
"Are you hurting, boy?" he asked, his hand returned to his son's cheek.
The boy's lips twisted with the admission. "Some."
For Little Joe, that was tantamount to an admission of guilt from a lifer!
"Here," Ben reached for the medicine.
Joe's hand stopped him. "I don't want that stuff, Pa. It makes me feel funny. I promise I won't move around a lot. Please don't make me take it."
All of the sudden Joe's lucidity took on a new meaning. "Did you spit it out the last time?"
His boy paled, but nodded.
Ben let out a sigh. "Joseph, what am I going to do with you?"
"Carry me downstairs so I don't have to lay in this dumb room by myself all day?" Those eyelashes fluttered. "Please, Pa."
"Not yet, son." At Little Joe's crestfallen look, he added. "Paul's due back soon. If he says it's okay, then we'll see." Ben imagined it was too soon, but he couldn't stand to dash the boy's hopes. "Now, please, take this for me."
Joe eyed the glass like it was a rattler.
"Okay. But only for you, Pa."
He smiled as he raised the boy's head up, and then sat there after he had taken the medicine and waited until it had gone into effect. Then he rose and headed for the door.
"Pa?" a sleepy voice asked just as he reached it.
That boy's stubbornness!
"Yes, Joseph."
"I'll say a…prayer for you."
Ben closed the door behind him and stood in the hall, humbled. What miracle had given him three such sons?
oooooooooo
"What you do in barn, Mister Hoss? It late."
Hoss started and then turned to find Hop Sing staring at him from the open door of the stable.
"Hey there, Hop Sing! What're you doin' outside this time of day?"
"Hop Sing headed for chicken coop. See if he can find eggs."
Fetchin' the eggs was Little Joe's job and he and Adam had kind of hit and miss on doin' it lately. They was awful busy with all the extra chores from both little brother and Pa bein' out of the mix. Here near the whole day was gone and there was still tons to do!
"I'm sorry, Hop Sing. I should've checked 'em before I came in here."
"No need. Big boy have other things to do." Hop Sing looked around. "Number one son not home yet?"
"Ain't seen hide nor hair of him, but Adam thought he'd be late gettin' home what with havin' to sign all them papers and smoke cigars and drink brandy and shake hands and such." Hoss laughed. "At least, he'll enjoy the brandy part."
"What you do in barn?"
That was another thing about Hop Sing. He was as persistent as Little Joe – and could be just as much of a pest at times.
"I'm goin' out to ride night fence."
He shook his head. "Number two son not go alone! Father not like it if you go alone."
Hoss stifled a sigh. "Come on, Hop Sing, I'm sixteen – gonna be seventeen soon. I don't need no nursemaid like my little brother."
"Little Joe very angry if he hear you say that."
Hoss sighed. "Do you know how happy I'd be to have Joe come runnin' around that corner and shout at me right now?"
The Asian man nodded. "Hop Sing know. It same with him. Kitchen too quiet since boy hurt."
"You're dang right, it is."
"Hop Sing go get eggs now. Fix big omelet when you come in."
"It's gonna be nine at least for I get in, Hop Sing. You don't need to do that."
"Number two son always hungry. That good thing. Make Hop Sing feel needed."
The admission took him by surprise. Hop Sing usually didn't say much.
"Heck, you know we need you. I don't know what we'd do without you." He ran a hand along the back of his neck. "I guess, sometimes, we forget to tell you."
Hop Sing looked like he'd hit him with a hammer.
"No more talk!" he declared. "Wise man have long ears, big eyes, and short tongue. Talk too much!"
And then, he was gone.
Hoss stood scratchin' his head over that one for a while.
As he finished tightening his cinch, the big teen heard a sound. He moved to the door and looked out. He was right. It was a horse riding into the yard. Adam dismounted near the rail, tossed his mount's reins over it, and headed for the house.
"Hey, big brother! How'd it go?"
Adam stopped and turned back, obviously surprised that he'd missed him. He walked slowly his way. "Other than having to play nice with the man I suspect of trying to kill my little brother? Swell, just, swell."
"Stephens got under your collar, eh?"
"And my shirt and my union suit," he groused. "I have never met a more contemptible human being."
"God loves him."
Adam's brows jerked upward. "What?!"
Hoss tried to hide his smile, but couldn't. "Just had to see your face."
His brother rolled his eyes. "Where are you going?" he asked as he noticed he had his winter coat on.
"Out to ride fence."
"Alone?!"
"Now, Adam, don't you start that. I been ridin' fence alone since I was thirteen. I ain't goin' far, just out past where Pratt and Bush and me were workin' earlier."
"I don't know, Hoss."
"Iknow." The big teen sighed as he turned back into the stable. "Pa ain't gonna like it."
"I wasn't thinking of Pa. I don't like it."
Hoss turned back. "Did Stephens make another threat?"
"Not so you could say." Adam thought a moment. "He kept talking about how big the Ponderosa was and how easy it would be for someone to get lost and no one ever find them. He even suggested Pa sell him half of it to keep us safe."
"Well, I ain't gonna get lost. I could ride fence with my hands tied behind my back and a bag over my head."
"Don't joke about it."
The big teen frowned. "About what?" He paused. "Oh. Sorry."
"Take someone with you."
"Who?"
"I don't know." Again, he was silent. "Anyone but Sears or Shade."
"How come?"
"I just don't trust them."
Hoss let out a sigh. "Ok. If'n it'll make you feel better."
"It will."
"How about old Post-hole? I saw him wanderin' around earlier." Post-hole Wilson was so named 'cause that had been the first job he'd had after coming out West. He was just a boy back then, before the war. The two of them were friends since Post-Hole was bigger than he was. "Ain't no one gonna mess with him."
Adam nodded. "Yes. That'll do. Thanks, brother, for understanding."
"It's what I'm here for."
oooooooooo
Adam tossed his hat on the peg, hung his coat beside it, and then coiled his gun belt on the credenza. An exclamation of surprise escaped him when he saw his little brother's curly head resting on the sloped arm of the settee. Pa was talking softly to Little Joe. The older man looked up at him and smiled.
"Welcome home, son."
He was around that settee fast as a jackrabbit in front of a prairie fire.
"Joe!"
Little Joe gave him a weary smile. "Hey, older brother."
Adam met his father's gaze over his brother's head. His hopes were quashed as Pa shook his head slightly.
"What are you doing downstairs, buddy?" he asked as he sat on the table beside the sofa.
"I got tired of lookin' at those old walls in my room," Joe answered with a yawn.
"Paul said it was safe to carry your brother downstairs – on a stretcher." Pa tossed his head in the direction of the corner. He had missed the canvas and wood pallet leaning in the corner. It was the one they kept for emergencies.
He guessed this qualified.
"It kind of…hurt," Joe admitted haltingly, "but I'm happy to be downstairs."
Adam reached out to ruffle his hair. "I'm sure you are, buddy." He looked up at his pa. "Is Joe going to stay here?"
Pa looked directly at his brother. "For the time being."
"Ah, Pa! Please don't make me go back up there," Joe protested.
"We will do whatever is for your best, young man."
Adam's gaze dropped to the pillows supporting Joe's back. He wasn't lying flat, but wasn't quite sitting up either.
"Paul felt it would be good to relieve some of the pressure on Joseph's spine. It's easier down here."
"Hop Sing put hot bricks wrapped up in wool under the blankets," Joe said, yawning again. "It's makin' me sleepy."
"You just go to sleep, buddy. You need your rest."
Joe sighed as his eyes closed. "So…everyone…keeps…telling…"
He was out.
Adam chuckled as he rose to his feet. He inclined his head toward the dining table. Pa nodded in return and then made their way over to it. As they sat down, he asked, "How is Joe? Really?"
"Your brother's not in quite as much pain. The swelling has gone down some. Paul said we could cut his medication in half."
Adam was staring at his brother's curly head. "He's something, isn't he?"
Pa snorted. "He certainly is! Joseph is already planning ways to get back on his feet."
"Can he feel them?"
"No, but that's not going to stop him." Pa's smile was affectionate and a little bit sad. "You know your brother."
"I guess it's better than wallowing in self-pity."
The older man sighed. "Paul says that may come later, once Joseph realizes he never will."
That stopped him cold. "Is it definite then? He won't be able to walk?"
"I'm sorry. I'm tired. Nothing is certain yet. It's too soon." Pa ran a hand over his face and deliberately changed the subject. "So, how did your day go?"
He made a face. "Same as yesterday. Sebastian Stephens was an ass."
"Any more threats?"
"Not outright ones."
His father stiffened and looked around. There was a note of panic in his voice. "Where's Hoss? I haven't seen – "
"He's out riding fence with Post-hole Wilson."
The older man visibly relaxed. He even smiled. "Now that would be a sight to see."
Post-hole usually did what his name said, drive in posts. He wasn't much of one for sitting a horse, though he would grudgingly ride to the settlement and back. The tall gray horse he rode was part pachyderm, or so the men joked.
"I know Hoss is big enough to be taken for a full-grown man," Ben said, "but in reality he's still a boy and, while he may look like a man, in many ways he still thinks as a child."
"He's too trusting, you mean?"
"That and too quick to give his heart. Hoss also thinks he's indestructible."
Adam chuckled. "Don't we all?"
With that, the two of them fell silent, each lost in his own thoughts. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes before Pa roused.
"I'd best get upstairs and grab a pillow and blanket.," he said as he scooted his chair back and rose. "Your little brother refuses to budge from the settee and I decided to let him think he won. Paul said it would be all right to leave Joseph there until he returned tomorrow morning. Tomorrow he's going to instruct us in a regime to follow. He wants us to begin to apply hot and cold compresses." The older man drew a breath. "He also wants to show us what to do to keep your brother's muscles from atrophying."
Adam studied his father. The older man looked like he was on his last leg. "Let me stay with him overnight, Pa. You look like you could use a night in your own bed."
Pa gave him 'that' look. "You do too," he said softly.
"But I'm a young and growing boy," Adam countered with a smile.
"While I am an old man who is only getting older? Is that what you're saying?"
He shrugged. "If the boot fits."
Pa mulled it over for a moment. "Is it permitted then to go and get you a pillow and blanket?"
"Thanks," he said as he rose from his chair. "That would be great."
A minute later his father returned with the items and handed them to him. He headed over to check on Little Joe before climbing the stairs. "He's sleeping deeply," the older man said as he caressed his brother's head. "I gave him a dose of medicine in his milk. I doubt he'll rouse 'til morning."
"I'll sleep in your chair. It's more comfortable than mine."
His father's eyebrows peaked toward his graying hair. "Do tell? Then why is it 'your' chair?"
"Blue's better for my complexion."
His arm still stung a minute later from where his father had smacked him.
With a stretch and a yawn, Adam went to his designated 'bed' and sat down. The fire flickered, its embers almost spent. He knew he should toss another log on, but decided he'd do it later. The ranch house was silent except for the ticking of the hall clock and the sound of Little Joe's regular breathing. Adam raised the wick on the lamp by his father's chair and picked up a book. He read for a short time, but it wasn't long before his eyelids began to droop and he was fast asleep.
That lasted until the pounding started on the front door.
Adam jerked awake, his heart beating wildly just as the banging stopped. He took a moment to calm himself before heading for the door. Once there, he paused with his hand on the latch to glance over his shoulder at his little brother. Joe was snoring, so he was still asleep. As exhausted as their father was, he imagined the older man had slept through the knocking as well. Turning back, he opened the door and stepped out. He couldn't see anyone.
But he could feel someone clawing at his ankle.
Adam looked down and let out a string of words his father would have tarred and feathered him for.
Post-hole Wilson was laying on the porch.
He had a bullet hole in his side.
oooooooooo