FIVE
So much sadness in house. Much fear.
Many pain.
Hop Sing paused in what he was doing to run a hand over his brow. He turned to look at his kitchen which now, more than anything else, resembled his father, Hop Ling's, establishment. He had spent many years in the laundry, growing from a boy to a man, before coming to work for Mistah Ben Cartwright and his new wife. Missy Cartwright had been a beautiful woman with many talents. They did not include keeping house, and so he became the Cartwright's housekeeper.
And in many ways, after her untimely death, became Missy Cartwright as well.
With a sigh, the Asian man dropped the long spoon he was holding into the steaming pot that held soiled strips of linen. Leaving the stove, he crossed to the table and sat down in front of a pile of fresh ones. Many linens used this day. Mistah Little Joe in great need of them. Boy have so many cuts, but one to head the worst. Blood refuse to stop. Come all the time.
Boy might still die.
Often tell Mistah Cartwright tears a good thing. Not like it when they trail down his own cheeks.
Using the back of his hand, Hop Sing cleared his grief away before reaching for the first strip that needed to be rolled. Some bandages wider than others. Wide ones not for Little Joe, but for Mistah Hoss. Number two son say little when he come home with hurt brother, but he too have many cuts on legs and arms. Cuts bad, but worse are his hands. Mistah Hoss' hands badly burned from moving boards off of little brother. Mistah Hoss in much pain.
Most pain inside, in heart.
Not his fault brother hurt. Never his fault.
Still, big man blame himself for baby brother's hurt like before.
An affectionate smile touched the Asian man's lips as he continued to roll the strips of cloth. 'Baby' brother hurt many times. Most times it his own fault. Number three son often leap before looking. He not think of price to be paid by him.
Price even higher for those who love him.
Hop Sing sat back and looked at the pile of neatly rolled linen strips lining the table's surface. Then his eyes strayed to the clock he kept in the kitchen. Clean bandages folded. Filthy ones soaking in pot on stove. All preparation for lunch done.
There was time.
His mind made up, the Asian man scooted his chair back and stood up. He removed his apron and hung it carefully on the chair-back before crossing to the side door and stepping outside. Turning a corner, Hop Sing headed for the garden and the small shrine he kept there to honor his ancestors and the God of the Cartwrights whom he had also come to know. The new day was dawning. A pale golden light fell like dew upon the growing plants and budding flowers. He knelt among them - not to prune or pluck - but to pray.
And to remember.
oooooooooooooooooooo
"What you do in little brother's room? He need to rest!"
Ben Cartwright's middle son hung his head and then looked up at him. "I…just cain't stay away, Hop Sing. I gotta know Little Joe's…breathin'."
Number three son have pneumonia. Doctor fear for his life. Little boy not take medicine like he told to. Spit it out. Hide bottle. Throw it out window.
Maybe throw life out with it.
"Little Joe was coughin' so bad. Now he's…so quiet."
Boy's chest tight. Cough no more.
Need to cough.
"There's just gotta be somethin' we can do, Hop Sing!" Tears in boy's eyes. Fear in his voice. "I never…I didn't…." More tears flow down cheeks as boy slips to carpet and places head in hands. "I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to…kill him…."
Hop Sing place tray he carry with herbal broth and tea on table by door. Then he kneel beside boy. "Guilty conscience hidden enemy," he say softly. "Mistah Hoss not mean to hurt Little Joe."
"No! No, I didn't," boy cries as he looks up. "We was havin' so much fun, Hop Sing. We was just foolin' around. I never meant for Joe to fall in Mister Jessup's well!"
"So why you think you make little brother sick?"
"Cause I dared him to do it! I said he couldn't and you know Little Joe…."
Hop Sing hide his smile. "Hop Sing know boy well. Little Joe not do anything he not want to." The Asian man paused for a moment to let that sink in. "What your father say about taking dare?"
Hoss sniffed and blinked. "That anyone who does is a fool."
"Little brother not fool. He little. But he also like to take dare. He need much guidance to grow to be a man. Little Joe need big brother who love him, teach him, and look out for him." He paused. "What you do when brother fall in well?"
Hoss winced. "Pa weren't happy. I went in to get him."
"Carry brother to the top. Wrap him in warm blankets. Get help. Get doctor." He held the boy's gaze. "Take care of him."
Hoss' eyes flicked to his brother where he lay in bed. "But, Hop Sing, Joe's so sick."
"Need you even more now to take care of him. Guilt like footprint of elephant. It crush you. Make you think of self when little brother need you to think of him."
Hop Sing watch as number two son consider wise words.
"You're right, Hop Sing. I was bein' selfish." Boy's gaze go to table and tray. "Can I feed Little Joe?"
"Yes. Boy help with care. Feed brother."
"Thanks, Hop Sing, I…." Hoss look at him and then throw arms around him.
Almost fall back to carpet.
"I love you, Hop Sing!"
oooooooooooooooooooo
"Hey, Hop Sing. You got those new bandages ready yet?"
Hop Sing blink and come back to present. Still in garden. Mistah Hoss in garden too. Rising, he reply, "Bandages in kitchen on table."
Hoss exhausted. Bags under eyes and baggage in heart.
"Remember elephant," Hop Sing say softly.
Number two son stare at him like he have no head. Then he remember.
"Oh, yeah," Hoss answer with slight smile. "Don't let it crush me,"
"Guilt still hidden enemy."
Mistah Hoss draws deep breath. Then, he nods. "Thanks, Hop Sing. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Moment later Mistah Hoss gone.
Hop Sing not know what he do with him either.
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SIX
Pain.
Incredible…pain.
Spearing his body, lancing through his head.
God. Such pain.
"Joseph? Can…hear me?"
"I doubt…Ben. He's…pretty bad way."
Someone was talking, but their words were muffled. It was like he was at one end of the tunnel and they were at the other - around a bend and halfway out of the mine. Their words drifted down to him like drops of sunlight dripping into absolute darkness.
He was in darkness.
"…thought you said…better."
"He's…some improvement. Hopefully…open…soon."
Open what? His mouth? His arms? Maybe his eyes?
He couldn't do any of those things.
He was too tired.
So…tired.
Sleep. I want to sleep. I need to sleep.
"Joseph? Son?"
Pa, let me sleep.
ooooooooooooooooooooo
"I'm sorry, son, but you have to stay awake until Paul gets here."
Six-year-old Joseph Cartwright wanted to do no such thing.
"I'm tired, Papa. Let me…to sleep."
The word 'go' got lost in a wheeze. He wanted to say more but the wheeze set his head to spinning. Joe drew in another breath. That one got stuck in his throat. It wanted to come out in a cough, but he couldn't cough.
His chest hurt almost as much as his head.
Joe's watery eyes strayed to the curtains surrounding his bed. He had no idea if it was before or after supper since he couldn't see the window and he hadn't eaten anything more than stinky broth laced with herbs all day - and that was only when someone made him. It was dark in his room too and it kind of smelled. Adam had rigged a tent over his bed and table after Papa's friend Paul said he needed to breath as much moist air as he could. Hop Sing kept bringing in steaming pots of water. At first he put pine needles in them. He liked that 'cause he liked the smell of the pine. It sent him to sleep and he'd dreamed of running outside under the great Ponderosas. The last time Hop Sing came in he took that water away and put another beside his bed that smelled just like that awful soup he was supposed to eat. The herbs made him want to cough and he couldn't cough and when he couldn't cough everybody got long faces and looked at him like he was gonna die.
He didn't want to die.
"Papa," Joe breathed. "I'm scared."
His father drew him into the circle of his arms. Papa was sitting behind him holding him up because it hurt too bad to lay down. As Joe leaned back and rested his head on the older man's chest, he wondered if his papa thought maybe he could lend him some of his own strength by doing that.
It wasn't working.
Papa leaned down and whispered close to his ear. "Joseph, would you like to know a secret?"
He nodded. He liked secrets - even when he was sick.
"Sure."
"I'm scared too."
Joe gasped. That scared him even more. His papa - his big strong papa was scared.
"You want to know what of?"
He didn't know if he wanted to know, because if what his papa was scared of was him dying, he didn't want to die, and that meant he didn't want to know.
Joe shrugged his shoulders just a little bit. "Maybe."
"I'm scared you brother Hoss will never forgive himself."
The little boy frowned. "Forgive…himself for…what? What'd he…do?"
Pa held him through the wheezes and the pain before he answered. "Your brother blames himself for you being sick."
Joe coughed just a little bit as he asked, "How'd Hoss make…me sick?"
"He blames himself for you falling in the well."
He thought about that one for a whole fifteen seconds. "How come? He didn't…push me in…." Joe drew in a breath. "…and he pulled…me out."
"But your brother dared you to walk on the edge of the well. Isn't that right?"
Joe leaned into that strength of his papa's as he drew in as much air as he could. "I would of…done it anyway," he breathed out.
"Even though you knew I would be angry?"
He nodded. "I had to…see if I could."
"And could you?"
Papa had a lot of voices. There was the one when you hadn't done your homework. And the one when you missed washing a place behind your ears. And then there was the one when you went into the corral when you weren't supposed to and got caught climbing up on one of the big horses.
He was using that one.
"No, sir." It came out with another little cough. A little bigger one.
Maybe those yucky herbs were working.
"Joseph, there will be many times in your life when you have to make a choice between what you want and what you know is right." His papa shifted forward so he could look him in the eyes. "Do you remember Proverbs 19:20?"
His head hurt, so it was hard to remember anything, but he'd heard that one often enough. "Listen to advice and…accept discipline, and at…the end you will be…counted among the wise."
That was a lot of words and it took a lot out of him.
Joe turned his head into his father's shirt. The scent of tobacco and Bay Rum comforted him, even if it did make him want to sneeze. "Papa, is…this…my end?"
He felt his father tense. His grip on him tightened.
"I don't believe so, son. You're very sick, but it's not your time." His father smiled. "You've been coughing. Can you do it again? And do it like you're Hoss and not you?"
Pa wanted a big bear of a cough. But he was just a little cub.
"I don't know."
"Can you do it for Hoss?"
He thought about that. He loved his brother. He didn't want him to feel bad.
"I'll try, Pa."
His father leaned in and kissed him on the forehead.
"That's all I can ask."
ooooooooooooooooooooo
'Joseph, can you…open your eyes? Please, son, try for…pa.'
'I got…patched up the best I can, Ben. He's taken quite…blow to the head. He's got a concussion. There's no way of telling how bad it is.'
"Joe?"
The voices were back, only this time they weren't so far away. He was able to reach up and catch one of those drops of sunlight as it fell.
"…Pa…?"
"Doc says you're going to be all right."
Maybe if he could catch more of those drops. But he'd have to open his eyes and he wasn't sure he wanted to do that.
"Darn…cat knocked the..nitro off the shelf…."
Joe tried as he spoke - tried with all his strength to catch those drops.
He caught his father's hand instead.
"You took quite a walloping there," his father said as he squeezed his fingers. "Were you trying to blow up the whole world?"
Pa was scared. He could hear it in his voice. Just like he'd heard it in his voice when he'd been a little boy and Pa had sat up with him all night willing him to cough, to clear his lungs and breathe. He remembered those eyes of his, brown as freshly-turned Earth. They'd focused on him - willed him to live.
He needed to see them now.
It took about everything that he had left. Joe opened his eyes.
He did…open his eyes.
Were his eyes open?
"Pa. Pa?"
"Joe?"
Joe lifted his hand and felt flesh, but where his father's eyes should have been, there was nothing.
He was blind.
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SEVEN
Joe was blind.
Good Lord.
It had been a difficult few hours. At first, he - like Joe - believed the blindness would be momentary. Paul warned them both before he left not to expect too much. The blow Joe took to his head had been severe enough to kill him. Most likely the blindness would be temporary, but it could take weeks - or even months - before his sight returned. Joseph fell asleep sure that when he woke up, he would be able to see.
When he did and he couldn't, he panicked.
His son threw his covers back and angled around until he was sitting on the edge of the bed before he could stop him. The bandage on Joe's arm and head bloomed crimson as he struggled to stand up. The boy was speaking - babbling, really - declaring that he had to get to the window and open it so the light could come in.
The window was open. Joseph's room was bright as the morning itself.
If it hadn't been for Hoss making an appearance at that moment, Ben didn't know what he would have done. Joseph was manic. Even battered as he was, he had the strength of two men and was about to break free. Hoss paused, drew a breath, and then said in a voice nearly as big as he was, "Joseph, now you settle down, boy! You're gonna hurt Pa!"
Joe froze, though whether at his brother's chastising or because he'd just been called 'boy' Ben wasn't sure. He remained still for a moment, shuddered, and then all the fight went out of him.
And maybe all the life.
"God, Pa," Joe whimpered as his head fell forward to rest on his chest. "God, Pa…I'm blind. I can't be blind." His grown son began to sob. Joe's hands gripped his arms. "Pa, I can't…live blind."
Over his youngest's head, he exchanged a look with his middle son. There were tears trailing down Hoss' face.
Maybe it was a good thing Joseph couldn't see.
"Hey, Joe," Hoss said as he swiped his face with his sleeve. "Can I talk to you?"
"What for?" his brother snapped. "To tell me I'm blind? Don't you think I know it!"
"Joseph!"
"What, Pa? Are you going to tell me I'm a bad boy? You going to put me over your knee?"
He wanted to. Really, he did.
"Pa. Why don't you go on downstairs," Hoss suggested. "Hop Sing's askin' about what to fix for supper."
"Tell him nothing for me," Joe snarled.
It was a pattern of Joseph's. When he was upset, he wouldn't eat. The boy needed to. He needed his strength for the battle ahead.
No matter how long it lasted.
"Now, Joe," his brother said, "you know you better eat what's served or Hop Sing will rustle up a pot of that herb soup you hate."
Joseph had climbed back into bed and drawn the covers up to his chin. He spoke as he turned his face into the pillow.
"Both of you go away. Just leave…let me sleep."
Ben opened his mouth to reply, but Hoss held a finger to his lips and asked for silence. With a nod - and a last look at his hurting child - the older man left the room.
And left the healing to his sons.
ooooooooooooooooooo
Hoss sat on the bed. His little brother jerked as he did. He supposed Joe thought he'd left.
"Why are you still here? Oh, that's right. You were there when the world blew up." Joe slipped farther under the covers. "Maybe you lost your hearing!"
He hadn't been Joseph Francis Cartwright's brother for nearly thirty years without figurin' out the kid's tactics. Joe went all barbed wire when he was hurtin' in order to keep everyone away.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there, Joe," he said and meant it. "Maybe I could of done somethin'…"
"Like get blown up with me?" Joe snapped. "Don't be stupid."
Hoss was silent for a moment. Then he said, "You know, Joe. I've been thinkin' about when we was young'uns. You remember that time you fell in the well on account of I dared you to walk the edge?"
Joe didn't say anythin'. Then he righted himself against his pillow. His eyes remained closed as he spoke. It was kind of unnerving.
"What made you say that?"
The big man chuckled. "Cause I've been thinkin' about it."
Joe frowned. "I had a dream about that. It was like I was…six years old again. Pa was angry with me."
Hoss shifted on the bed. " Angry 'bout what?"
His brother snorted. "Proverbs 20:19."
"Oh, lordy! Pa rolled out the big guns then. You was just a little feller. You didn't know no better."
"Yes, I did, Hoss. I knew I was doing what I shouldn't have been doing. I didn't think…."
"Think 'bout what?"
"About you, you big lug."
"Me?"
His brother opened his eyes and looked at him - well, looked at where he thought he was.
"Hoss, there's nothing you could have done to stop me getting hurt. Just like there was nothing you could have done to keep me from walkin' that well edge. I'm not…blind because you went inside to talk to Charley anymore than I got pneumonia because of a dare."
The big man dropped his head. "How'd you know?"
"Because I know you. Because I know you…love me." Joe paused. "Maybe more than you do yourself."
"God says we ain't supposed to love ourselves."
"You know that's not…true." His brother drew a breath and let it out slowly. "What's the great commandment?"
"That you love others as you…"
"…love yourself."
Joe winced as he slipped farther down on the bed. His brother was growing weary. There were great deep circles under his eyes. Fresh blood stained the bandage around his head and the one on his left arm. As he watched, Joe seemed to grow paler.
"Hoss," his brother said, his tone utterly weary. "you have to let it go - then and now."
oooooooooooooooooooo
His pa had given him a good talking to. Fifteen-year-old Hoss Cartwright knew the older man was right, but he still couldn't let it go. He'd nearly got his little brother killed - twice. First when Little Joe fell in that well and the second time, because he had to see Becky Lou and he left Joe at the livery. Pa'd tried to keep him from seeing Jake's burnt body, but he hadn't been quick enough. He'd seen and, for just a second, he'd thought it was Little Joe lyin' there.
Dead.
Nothin' would ever be the same.
Since that day he'd…well…followed his little brother around like a love-sick puppy. He was gonna make darn sure that nothin' like that happened again.! He was up before Joe and went to bed after him. He took him to school and made sure to be there to bring him home. Heck, he'd even followed his little punkin' to the outhouse! At first Little Joe'd thought it was great fun. Then, he figured it out, and was that boy mad! Lately he'd taken to hidin'. Like he was right now. It'd been a full fifteen minutes since he'd seen the little squirt and it was drivin' him crazy!
The big teen had just about decided to go back to the house and start again when he heard his brother call his name.
"Hoss!"
He'd walked a ways followin' Little Joe's trail. It had taken him around the house and into the back pasture where about a dozen horses were munchin' on sweet grass. The big animals kind of looked at him sideways as he hustled by. Hoss let out a sigh as he stopped at the end of the grassland and looked both ways. He sure enough did love his baby brother, but that boy had a penchant for getting' into trouble - especially where stallions and such was concerned.
Heaven alone knew how he managed to do it so quick!
"Joe?" Hoss called. "Little Joe, where are you?"
"Hoss! I'm here! Hoss…help!"
There was a long line of trees just beyond the fence. Behind them was a fast-running creek swollen from the run-off of the snow-melt high up in the mountains. A chill snaked through Hoss' powerful form.
Joe wouldn't have - would he?
"Joe! Little Joe!" the big teen shouted as he began to run. "Where are you?"
"Over here, Hoss. Hurry! The water's runnin' fast. I don't know if I can hold on!"
Dagnabbit! The boy had gone to the creek!
"Tell me where you are!"
"Over by the well, Hoss! By the big tree that bends over it. You gotta help me!'"
There was a circle of fat roots there that formed a kind of pool. They always joked and called it a 'well'. Someone big as him would be safe enough in it, but Joe was little. His skinny little carcass could slip right through and be sucked away.
"Hold on, punkin! I'm comin'!"
"Hoss! Hurry!"
He was at the creek's edge now. The big tree was leaning over the fast running water, casting shadows on the pool. Quicker than he should have, Hoss made his way over to it, knelt on one of the big branches, and leaned out over the water.
Two seconds later he was in the water.
And brother Joe was laughin' his head off.
"You oughta see you! You look wet enough to bog a snipe!"
"You ornery little critter!" Hoss growled. "You just wait 'til I get out of this here water and then you're gonna wish you'd never been born! I'm gonna kill ya!"
Little Joe appeared on the bank. "Does that mean you're finally gonna stop followin' me around and tryin' to protect me from nothing? I mean, if you're willing to kill me, then you can't be worried about me getting hurt. Right?"
Hoss was half-way up the bank before he realized he'd been skunked. "You did that on purpose!"
Joe had his arms crossed over his chest. His lips twisted to one side as he nodded. "Sure did. I had to do something to bring you back to your senses, big brother."
"Like nearly drownin' me?!"
"Ah, I knew you wouldn't drown. You're too big. You'd just get stuck like a cork." Joe stepped forward to offer him a hand. "So, we're even now, right? You dunked me and I dunked you. Can we just go back to the way it was before?"
Those wide green eyes of little brother's did some mighty fine beggin'.
"I guess I have been a little…over-zealous the last few weeks."
"A little?" Joe snorted. "You've been treatin' me like I'm weak as a dragged cat!"
"I was just worried about you, Joe."
"And I worry about you. That's what brothers do." As he reached the top, Joe let go. "But brothers also trust each other. I got your back. You got mine. I know that, even if you don't."
Hoss thought a minute. Little Joe was right.
"How'd you get to be so smart?" he asked with a lopsided smile.
"Well, it sure wasn't from watching you, you big galoot!"
Hoss looked down at the skinny, curly-haired bright-eyed boy before him. He loved him more than life -
When he didn't want to kill him.
"Whoa whoa, whoa, whoa! Hoss!" Joe shouted as Hoss caught him around the waist and hefted him up and over his shoulder like a sack of grain. "What are you doing? It was just a joke, really. Hey! I'm sorry if I made you mad….put me down…will you?"
Hoss didn't say a word. He just started walkin'. He had a smile on his face and a snap in his step. He might be so wet he could carry a canoe in his back pocket.
But he was free.
oooooooooooooooooooo
"Hey, Hoss! You gotta talk to me. I can't see your face." Joe paused. "Tell me what you're thinking."
Hoss looked at his beloved little brother. Joe had a long, uphill fight in front of him. He was a scrapper and didn't know when to quit. There was no reason to believe this would be different from the time before - from any time before.
Except it was different.
The big man laid his hand on his little brother's arm. Joe jumped, but hid his surprise quickly.
"You remember when you knocked me in the pool well back when you was a little squirt?"
Joe frowned. It took him a moment. "Yeah, I remember. You were driving me crazy followin' me around everywhere 'cause you felt guilty."
"Well, I promise you I won't do that again. I'll wait for you to ask - but you better ask if you need anythin', you hear me?" Hoss paused and waited. "Joe?"
"I don't need…." His brother drew in a breath. The words that came out with it were spoken quietly. 'Hoss, I'm… I'm scared."
"I know you are, punkin," he replied. "But Old Hoss is here. I'll take care of you - when you want me to, of course."
Joe placed his hand over his fingers and gave them a little squeeze.
No other words were needed.
They was brothers.