ELEVEN
oooooooooo
As Adam Cartwright stumbled in the dark, he wondered how long it had taken Lucas Painter and the other men in the search party to realize he'd gone missing. His horse had been left behind, so that would have been a giant clue. Once he'd agreed to go with Bush Sears, they had simply walked away. The route Bush took them on led through dense undergrowth and over rocky terrain. There would be next to nothing to guide the lawman to him. The few times they had left tracks, Sears had back-tracked and brushed them out, and then taken them even higher into the hills.
He had no idea where they were going.
They'd been on the move for several hours when Bush called a halt. Even though he'd promised not to try to escape, his kidnapper had bound his hands behind his back ('to keep you off-balance') and tied a kerchief across his eyes. A rough grip on his arm had guided his steps up until the moment they stopped.
'Stay here!" Sears ordered. 'You move one foot, Cartwright, and I promise I'll shoot one of those brothers of yours between the eyes."
Adam did as he was told. He remained still – he held his breath, in fact – and waited. While he did, he listened. Somewhere, not too far ahead, two men were exchanging words. He heard his name – and his father's – as well as 'orders' and 'soon', and even more disturbingly, 'ditch'. It seemed an eternity, but it wasn't very long before the hand returned to grip his arm and he was roughly propelled forward. The rough ground beneath his feet gave way to smooth rock and his footsteps began to echo. He'd been in enough mines to recognize the sound. He was forced into a shaft and, as they descended, the air grew thick and a chill settled in his bones. They were moving to one of the mine's lower levels – into the bowels of the earth.
Once there escape would be next to impossible, if it was possible at all.
When the elevator stopped, Sears shoved him again. They walked for a minute or two and then Bush released him – with a second warning not to move. Low whispers were exchanged before he heard a key turn in a lock. They moved forward again. There was a second key – a second lock – and then he was thrust forward. Bush shoved him with such force that he lost his balance and fell, striking his head against the cold stone floor, and momentarily blacked out.
When he came to, Adam felt hot breath on his cheek. A hand quickly followed, slapping it gently.
"Older brother, are you okay?"
Even though it was pitch-black in the room, he was seeing stars. "Mm…mm okay," he mumbled as he reached for the back of his head.
"Dang it, Adam! What're you doin' here?"
He swallowed as his brother helped him to right himself and the stars began to fall around them.
"…ungrateful…" was all he managed.
"It ain't that I ain't glad to see you, older brother," Hoss sighed, "but I ain't glad to see you. Not here. Not like this."
Adam blinked trying to focus. "Are you all right?"
"I could just about eat a elephant, but otherwise I'm okay."
Adam looked about, even though he couldn't see anything. "Is Little Joe with you? Someone took him out of his bed. Bush said –"
"Yeah, Little Joe's here."
There was something – a sadness, maybe even a hopelessness in his brother's tone.
"Did they do something to him?" he demanded.
"You could say that." Hoss was angry. "They done locked Little Joe in this cold damp place when he ought to be in a room with a fire roarin' and about a dozen blankets on top of him."
As Hoss finished, it hit him – what was 'off'. The room was silent.
Little Joe hadn't said anything.
"Hoss…what aren't you telling me?"
His brother let out a sigh. "I done what I can, Adam, but I'm scared it ain't enough. Little Joe's awful sick."
"Where is he?"
"Over by the wall. Come on, I'll help you up and take you to him."
Adam felt his brother's arm reach around his back. As he wobbled, Hoss asked, "You sure you can make it?"
"I'm fine. I don't think I hurt myself. I just had the wind knocked out of my sails."
"Sure, you did," his brother snorted. "Just like Little Joe's 'fine'."
It was a short walk – no more than the distance across the great room – but, to Adam, it felt like he'd walked to the northern boundary of their land. Hoss leaned him against a wall. He heard the rustle of his brother's clothing as he crouched.
"Hey, punkin," Hoss said gently. "Wake up, Little Joe. We got us a visitor."
A low moan was his reply.
Adam felt his way down the wall and then felt along it, seeking his baby brother. His hand encountered the boy's curls and then his forehead – which was ablaze
"He's got quite a fever," he said.
"Yeah, I know. Not sure how long he's had it since I lost all track of day and night. I know he's in pain."
"Has he been awake?"
"...wake now…" a sleepy voice groused. "How's a feller…s'posed to sleep…with…you two…jabberin'…."
"Little Joe," Adam asked as he touched his brother's cheek. "How do you feel?"
"…fine…go away…."
"Joe, I need you to stay awake, for just a minute. Okay?"
"Don't want to."
"I know you don't, but I need you to talk to me. Joe?"
"I think he's asleep again, Adam."
The black-haired man let out a sigh. "Has he been able to feel his legs?"
"Not so's I know. I gave up askin' him when he got so sick."
Adam's fingers encountered the thick fabric wrapped around his baby brother. "I see you found something to keep him warm."
Hoss took hold of the coat and tucked it in around Joe's chin. "Yeah, 'that's about all I been able to do for him." His brother paused. "Adam?"
"Yeah?"
"You never answered my question."
Adam was maneuvering himself into a seated position. Once settled, he reached over and pulled his little brother's feather-light frame onto his lap and cradled the boy's head against his chest. It wouldn't really do anything to help Joe, but it made him feel better having the boy so close.
"What question was that?" he asked as he pushed a lock of sodden curls from Joe's forehead.
"What are you doin' here?"
It was a good question.
"I didn't have much choice," he admitted.
"Did they kidnap you too?"
"Sort of," he said. "I was in the trees answering nature's call when Bush Sears came up to me and shoved the barrel of his gun in my ribs."
"Was you alone?"
"I was with a search party."
"Couldn't you have called out for help?"
Adam leaned his head against the wall. It was still throbbing, though the stars had faded. "I could have, but under the circumstances, I decided not to."
"What circumstances?"
"He threatened to harm the men in the camp – said there were others in the search party that were with him. Lucas and his men could have been killed." He hesitated. "Besides, I knew going with Sears might be our only hope of locating you and Little Joe. Pa and I have been looking, Hoss. It's been days. We had no trail and no clues."
Adam pulled his baby brother tighter to his chest and decided not to add, 'and no hope.'
Hoss fell silent. When he spoke again, he sounded like the sixteen-year-old boy he was – a boy who needed his father.
"So Pa was with you?"
"He was. He decided to go back home to speak with Hop Sing."
"Hop Sing? What's he got to do with anythin'?"
Adam winced. He'd forgotten that Hoss didn't know about the note. Neither did Little Joe. He hesitated, unsure of whether or not he should tell his brother his suspicions. Did it really matter if, in the end, Hop Sing was exonerated of any wrong doing?
"Pa suspects that Sebastian Stephens had something to do with your kidnapping," he responded, keeping somewhat to the truth. "Hop Sing knows Yin and Lin Lu. They work for Stephens. Pa thought they might know something."
"Well, he got that right," the big teen agreed. "Stephens sure enough has somethin' to do with it. Matter of fact, both Lu Lin and her brother been comin' here and bringin' us grub."
Adam stiffened. If that was true, then it really was Stephens who was behind everything.
But what was the bastard's connection to Hop Sing?
"Did either of them tell you anything?"
"Nah. That poor little gal is scared stiff and her brother, you know Yin, he just don't care. If he's bein' paid, he ain't gonna ask any questions."
He did know Yin and did not count him among his friends.
"So," Hoss said, his tone wry, "back to what you're doin' here…."
"I came to rescue you," he said.
The big teen was stunned into silence. "Well, you sure enough got a funny way of goin' about it," he said at last.
"I'll figure something out. I have to," the black-haired man said as he felt his baby brother's forehead and winced at what he found. Little Joe was on fire.
They were running out of time.
oooooooooo
Mistah Ben sat in his leather chair, his fingers steepled under his chin. Behind his employer the fire in the hearth blazed, casting light and warmth across the great room. It did nothing to dispel the icy fist that gripped his heart.
"Would you care to explain that last statement?" Mistah Ben asked.
Without looking up, he replied, "Hop Sing say what he mean."
"You killed someone? A woman?"
"Two someones," he sighed. "Sister and brother. Both dead because of Hop Sing."
"So, tell me, how did you do it? Did you shoot them through the heart or use a rapier?"
The Asian man's held came up sharply.
Mistah Ben sighed. "Hop Sing, wouldn't it be more truthful to say you feel that, in some way, you brought about their deaths?"
"Hop Sing bring about deaths," he insisted. "Make choice. Choice not wise."
"Choices of the heart seldom are, my friend. And that's what it was, wasn't it?" His employer and friend pinned him with his keen brown stare. "The woman in the locket. Clare. She was the woman you loved, wasn't she?"
The Asian man could see her as she was that last day. Sad as the twilight that was sure to come. He had tended Missy Clare for six months, finding joy in bringing her relief from her pain. On many of his visits her brother would join them. Mistah Ethan would bring a book and read out loud as he worked grinding the needed herbs and creating tinctures. Due to this Maria Theresa no longer felt the need to remain. Had the older woman known what was to come, she would never have left.
Had he known, he would not have let her.
"What happened?" Mistah Ben asked.
Hop Sing closed his eyes. Summer had ended and autumn come. Red, orange, and yellow leaves blanketed the hill outside Clare's window; the one that led down to the bay where the tall ships came and went. The light that filtered into the beautiful young woman's room that day was golden as the ringlets that lay upon her collar; the breeze that rustled the curtains, crisp but not chill. When he entered the house that morning, he found Clare's brother had excused himself and retired to his room for the day, complaining of a headache.
He would find out later that Ethan had lied.
xxx
"You know, Hop Sing," Clare said as she walked to the window, "before you came the light hurt my eyes so I could not bear it. I was like a caged thing, trapped in the dark." She looked over her shoulder at him. "You have freed me."
"Missy Clare is very kind," he replied as he began to pack his bag in preparation for departing. "This one is humbled and unworthy of such praise."
"You're not like other men. Do you know that?"
He was uncertain of what she meant. "If Missy Clare says so," he replied.
"I do. Men are…hard. Cruel even. Like my father, they seek power and ways to use it to rule others." Clare came toward him. "They use their abilities…their talents to get what they want – no, to take what they want." She was close now – so close it made him uncomfortable. Before he was aware of it, she had reached out and taken his hand in hers. "You use yours to give. Are all those who come from China like you?"
"It is our wisdom to walk in harmony with all, but there are those among us who chose to do otherwise. These men use their hands to bring harm."
"But not you. You use your hands to heal." Clare startled him by leaning down and pressing her lips to his fingers. "Your hands are beautiful."
"Missy Clare, you must not –"
"Why must I not? Because you are Chinese and I am white?" she snapped, a bit of an edge to her tone. "Because I have worth and you do not? I have lived my life selfishly, seeking only my own pleasure; shut up in this house like a lark imprisoned, singing without knowing why, while you…." Tears entered her eyes as she reached up to touch his face. "While you, dear Hop Sing, have chosen a life free from such restraints – a life of giving." A single tear slipped down her cheek. "You have given me so much…."
He broke away. "Missy Clare must not say these things."
"Yes, I must. Ethan told me my father intends to dismiss you upon his return."
He was surprised. "And why is this?"
She pouted. "I was foolish. I let it slip. Maria knows how I feel. She wrote to my father."
"How you feel?" he asked.
Clare rolled her eyes. "Maybe you are like other men." She laughed. "At least when it comes to women. I told her how I feel about you."
It took a moment. "You must not," he breathed.
"I do, and there's nothing you can do about it." She held his gaze. "Hop Sing, I love you."
"It is because I have tended you and brought you relief from pain –"
"You have brought relief for my pain – the pain of living," she replied. "I can't do it anymore. I can't pretend that this life, that these things," Clare indicated the elegant room they occupied, "have any meaning for me. I can't…take anymore. Don't you understand? I need to give."
"You cannot love me."
"But I do." Clare paused. "And I think, if you are honest, you will admit you love me too."
He shook his head. "Such a thing cannot be."
"Perhaps it cannot be, but it is." She took his hand again. "Let's go now, before father returns on his ship. Ethan has said he will help us. We'll travel over the mountains. He'll never find us."
"Mistah Ethan?"
"Ethan knows, silly. Whom else could I trust?"
"But I am Chinese."
"You're not Chinese. You're a man and I love you. That's good enough for him."
He did love Clare – he had loved her with all his heart from that first day – but he had not allowed his head to know.
"You would do this? You would leave everything for me?"
Clare touched his face again. "I am leaving nothing, and I gain everything," she said. "I would go with you and be your wife, if you would have me."
And then she kissed him.
xxx
"Hop Sing?"
The Asian man looked at his employer. Mistah Ben's face was soft with sympathy, but hard with a father's worry. His answer brought pain to both of them.
"The note you received, it speaks truth," he admitted. "This one took Sebastian Stephens' only daughter and son. Missy Clare pledged herself to this unworthy one. She asked her brother to help her leave her home before her father could return."
"You planned to run away together?"
He nodded. "This one dreamed of a new path, but woke and walked the old one."
"I'm sorry," Mistah Ben said. "I take it Clare's father prevented you from being together."
Hop Sing's jaw clenched.
As wise father Hop Ling had taught, the thorn from the bush one has planted, nourished, and pruned pricks most deeply and draws the most blood.
oooooooooo
Adam had shared his brother's tenebrous dungeon for several hours now. It was hard to imagine Little Joe and Hoss had been here for days. The air – while adequate – was stifling, a constant cold crept up from the floor into your bones, and the all encompassing darkness was oppressive. From what Hoss said, they'd had little water and even less food, and now even that routine had been broken. The black-haired man wasn't sure what time it was, but he knew it was well after the noon meal and probably past supper-time as well. He'd heard someone speaking a while back – he thought it was Pratt Shade – but his voice had been far off in the distance and then disappeared. Adam let out a sigh as he shifted his grip on Little Joe. So far his plan for rescuing his brothers was not going too well. He'd managed to get himself imprisoned along with them, and could see no way to get them – or himself – out. He'd figured that, together, he and Hoss could overpower one of the captors, or that one of them could manage to slip out while the other kept a guard occupied.
So much for that idea! It was almost as if they had been abandoned.
As they sat side by side, listening to their little brother's labored breathing, he and Hoss had talked. He'd told the big teen about the note and about Hop Sing running away. For what must have been the thousandth time, Adam wondered what in the world the note meant. He knew from his father that Hop Sing had been alone when he met and hired him. There had been no wife – no 'children'. Of course, there could have been before, but it was almost impossible to believe that they could have known Hop Sing for over ten years and never heard anything about them. Their cook and housekeeper was close about his past – his present, even – but a man slips. He says things he doesn't intend to.
His back was hurting, so Adam shifted and sat up straighter. As he did, his little brother stirred. Feebly, Joe touched his cheek.
"Pa?" the boy asked.
Adam caught his brother's hand in his own. "No, Joe. It's me. Adam."
"Where's…Pa?"
"He's coming, Little Joe. Pa's coming. I promise."
Joe pulled his hand away. He shivered and then tucked in closer to him, wrapping his arms around his waist.
"Don't leave…me…Adam."
The black-haired man drew in a startled breath as Little Joe gripped him with the strength of a gale force wind. It was a feeling at once familiar and almost forgotten, and it nearly unmanned him. How many times had he comforted his baby brother in just this way after one of his nightmares? How often when Joe had angered Pa or Hoss and felt like he didn't have a friend in the world? With Marie's death, his brother's need for his approval and love had grown exponentially. While he was at college he had forced himself to forget, for the power of the memory – of that need – was nearly enough to drive him to the first stage that was headed home. Though his education had gained him much, he'd lost something while he'd been gone.
He'd lost Little Joe's trust.
Adam ran his fingers through his baby brother's curls. "I'm not going anywhere, Joe. Little Joe?"
"I think he's sleepin' again. Adam," Hoss said softly.
He hoped that was all Joe was doing – sleeping.
"You know, you can't blame yourself," the big teen went on. "It ain't your fault."
Hoss must have inherited his intuition from their father.
"Yes, it is. I should have protected you. Both of you."
"Ah, I ain't talkin' about that. I'm talkin' about this here little scamp. I know you're feelin' bad for goin' away and leavin' him so soon after Mama died."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Hoss chuckled. "You play it anyway you like, older brother."
Adam's fingers continued to play with his brother's curls. "Pa never…." He cleared his throat. "I asked, but in his letters Pa always said Joe was 'all right'." The black-haired man paused. "I'm not sure if that was a comfort or not."
"Little Joe missed you, Adam. He missed you a lot. But you know how it is with kids, they got a special way of survivin'. After a while, well, I guess Joe took to pretendin' you weren't never there to begin with. Just like Mama." Hoss blew out a sigh. "I think it hurt too much for him to think about what he was missin'. Little Joe was 'all right' 'cept for when your letters came and he had to remember."
Adam groaned.
"Now, don't go feelin' bad about that either, older brother. Pa said it was good for Little Joe to remember. Pa said a man grows stronger when he faces things and weaker when he don't."
Little Joe had written to him every month that first year, but then the letters had fallen off to every three or four months, and even then there had been a sense of 'duty' about the way they were written. He'd replied, letting the family know what he was doing and that he was thinking of them, but – like Joe – he never used the words 'I miss you'.
They were too painful to write.
He'd been back a little less than a year now. He'd had to learn to know his brother all over again – and to love him in a different way.
He guessed it was the same with Little Joe.
Adam tilted his head back against the wall and let the tears flow. No one would know. The room they were in was pitch-black. After a moment, he felt his brother stir. Little Joe's hand found his cheek again; his small fingers tracing the course of one of those impossible tears.
The arms that held him grew tighter.
"It's okay, Adam," Little Joe whispered. "I missed you too."
oooooooooo
Hop Sing could not meet Mistah Ben's fierce gaze. His shame would not let him do so. The words he spoke were hard as stones and weighed him down as if they were tied around his neck. He had not thought of that day for many years and had no wish to do so now.
And yet, for the children he loved, he must.
xxx
The night was dark. The three-quarter moon hid its face behind a bank of clouds and the stars were dim. Missy Clare's note, along with a token of her affection, had come an hour before, delivered by the hand of a faithful servant. Hop Sing held the golden locket in his fingers even now as his footsteps took him to her. Her father's ship had docked, but he had not returned to their house. The wealthy man had gone to another settlement to conduct business and would be gone for two more nights.
The time was now if it was to be any time.
He'd bid Lee Chen goodbye, taken up his bags, and headed for the bay. The note from Missy Clare said she would not be alone. Her brother would be with her. Ethan had hired a coach and arranged for them to stay at a small mission outside of Yerba Buena that was run by a friend. His friend, who was a Jesuit, would join them as man and wife. After that, Missy Clare would go east with him, into unsettled territory, while Mistah Ethan returned to their father's house to 'mop up' as he said. Hop Sing paused just outside of a pool of light cast by one of the tall street lights that lined the avenue he walked. Theirs would not be an easy union. There would be much hatred, much derision, and much trouble.
When he told her this, Missy Clare would not listen. She told him 'love would find a way'.
He was to meet them at midnight at a garden gazebo. The park that contained it sat high on a hill and was fronted by a street called 'Maiden Lane'. There was a Spanish name for the street as well, but the white man had given it this name because young women often came here to watch for the tall ships to return with the men they loved. As Hop Sing rounded a corner and the small wooden structure came into view, somewhere in the distance a clock struck twelve times. He could see movement within. Missy Clare's face appeared from out of the darkness and his heart soared at the sight of his beloved. Then he saw the man behind her. It was not her brother.
It was Sebastian Stephens.
"They hang white men for stealing, coolie," the wealthy man growled as he twisted Clare's arm and reeled her in. "What do you suppose they'd do to a chink?"
Hop Sing halted a few feet away; his eyes never leaving the one he loved. "This one has stolen nothing from you."
"You've stolen my children's affections!" Stephens shouted as he came down the steps, dragging Clare with him. "You've bewitched them with your potions and heathen ways!"
"Hop Sing! No!" she cried. "Run! He has a gun!"
"I should kill you where you stand," the wealthy man growled as the weapon appeared.
Hop Sing remained where he was. He held Missy Clare's gaze, willing her to trust him.
"I told him," she sobbed. "I told Papa it was my choice and that he can't stop me. That I love –"
Her father struck her; silencing her.
But not her brother.
"As I told you to let her go!" Ethan declared as he appeared from out of the shadows. His hair was in disarray; his collar askew. One eye was blackened and his lip bled from being struck. It was evident he and his father had clashed before. "This is Clare's life! Let her go, father, or I swear I will never speak to you again!"
"You will keep silent!" Stephens commanded.
"I warn you," Ethan continued, his eyes locked on the gun. "If you murder Hop Sing, you will lose us both!"
He had known better, but he had forgotten. The path he had chosen was a simple one, to give and to expect nothing in return. If he could take back his words of love, he would.
But he could not.
Hop Sing closed his eyes and asked for wisdom. He remained still as the wind whipped about him and whispered words to calm his beating heart.
He knew what he must do.
There was only one path and he must walk it. He would challenge the wealthy man and make certain the bullet came to him.
With a smile on his face, the Asian man took a deep breath and stepped directly into the path of the gun.
xxx
Hop Sing sighed.
As an older and a wiser man, his choice would have been different, but he was young then and did not know the hearts of men. It was not the way of his people, but it was the way of the white man. As Sebastian Stephen's finger closed on the trigger, Missy Clare's brother shouted 'NO!' and grabbed his father's arm.
Clare broke free. She ran to him.
The bullet took his beloved in the back, just above her heart that beat with love.
And then, it beat no more.
oooooooooo