THREE

"Mister Cartwright? Mister Cartwright, you can come in now."

Joe was seated by the office window, looking out. He started from where his thinking had taken him and turned away to look at the young lady who'd stepped into the room. Jennie had dark brown eyes and a winning smile that belied the fact that, most of the time, she was welcoming people with...well...with problems.

People like him.

His grin was forced, but the charm was still there. "I thought I told you to call me 'Joe'."

Jennie was a sweet girl, barely twenty, and from what she'd told him the last time he'd come to Carson City to see Doctor Beverly Brandon, just married. There was a ring on her finger now. She blushed prettily as she stepped out of his way.

"Doctor Brandon will see you now...Joe."

He rose from his seat and crossed to where she was standing by the office door. "You be sure to tell that man you married that I said he was one lucky fella."

The blush deepened until Jennie's cheeks were nearly as crimson as the pattern on her blouse.

As Joe entered the office, Doctor Brandon rose to greet him. "Are you flirting with my receptionist again?" he asked.

Doctor Beverly Brandon was about Adam's age, somewhere in his early forties. He was an American, but had gone to Europe to study medicine and returned just in time to treat the veterans of the conflict between the states – the Confederate veterans. Brandon had been born in South Carolina and so his family and loyalties were there. Due to that family he had relocated to Carson City in eighteen-seventy and opened a practice. At first there was a lot of resentment but, since he had not fought in the war, when his techniques proved successful with Union veterans as well it turned the tide of opinion toward him. Brandon was a tall man – at least three inches taller than him – and slender, with pale yellow hair that laid flat on his head and a thin mustache that curled slightly at the ends. Sometimes the doctor wore glasses, but more often than not, like now, he had them pushed back and perched on his head. Like his office, Beverly Brandon was well-attired in the latest fashion, but there was nothing showy – everything was utilitarian and comfortable. Everything was about making the people who came to see him comfortable.

Because, if you were here, you probably thought you were crazy.

Doctor Brandon came around the desk and offered his hand. He studied him a moment and then asked, softly, "I take it things are no better?"

Joe frowned. "Does it show?"

The older man shook his head slightly. "I have a trained eye. I doubt anyone else would notice." The doctor released his hand and indicated the chair in front of his desk. "Sit down and tell me about the last two weeks."

It had been that long since he had seen him.

Joe sat down and tried not to squirm. This was hard for him – really hard. All of his life he'd taken on impossible challenges and overcome them. He'd pushed through and survived. He prided himself on the fact that no one could beat him or best him. No one could stop him.

No one, it seemed, except himself.

Doctor Brandon waited patiently. It seemed to Joe that the man always knew what he was going to say before he did, anyway.

"When you're ready."

Joe sucked in air and spit it out. "I've been a bastard."

Brandon's blond brows peaked. "I see. And just how have you been a bastard?"

Since Alice's death and since...Tanner...Joe often found himself unfocused and lethargic. He just had no energy or intent to do anything. But there were times like this, where he felt he might explode if he didn't move. Literally jumping from the chair, Joe began to pace.

Where to begin?

"I jump all over everyone. I got a fuse that's about an inch long and when it reaches the end, I go off like dynamite. I've pissed off about every hand we have and traded blows with half of them and last night..." He paused. "Last night I made my little brother cry."

Brandon was silent a moment. "These fights," he said at last, "do you instigate them?"

Joe dropped back into the chair. Pacing hadn't helped. "Yeah."

"Do you know why?"

He met the doctor's clinical stare and knew there was no point in trying to deceive him. He'd been through this too many times over the last few months.

"I guess I figure if I keep pickin' on every hand we have, sooner or later one of them is gonna be bigger and faster than me and the whole damn thing will end."

"The 'whole damn thing'? Meaning your life?"

Joe sunk back in the chair. "Yeah."

The blond man nodded. That was one of the reasons he'd kept coming to see Doctor Brandon after Doc Martin's assistant recommended him. No lectures. Just understanding.

"Have you been taking the medication I prescribed?"

He nodded. Probably too quickly.

"As prescribed?"

Joe shrugged. "Mostly."

Beverly Brandon stood and came to the front of the desk and leaned on it. He looked at him directly. "And if I told you I had 'mostly' checked the cinch before I climbed into the saddle to bust a bronco, would that fly with you?"

Joe ran a hand across his mouth and favored the older man with a smile that was chagrined. "I'd say when you broke your neck, that you deserved it."

He nodded. "Precisely."

"It's just..." Joe hesitated. Somehow it seemed he was insulting the doctor. "I think I should be strong enough to beat this without taking pills."

The doctor's lips turned up in a wry smile. "And tell me, how is that going for you?"

He held Brandon's gaze for a moment. "It's not."

The older man placed a hand on his shoulder. "That, Joseph Cartwright, is one of the first signs I have seen that you are getting better. I know it's hard, especially for a man like you. I know your reputation. I know how strong you are."

Joe scoffed. "How strong I used to be..."

"No. How strong you are still. Joe, science is discovering every day that the human mind can only take so much. Even the strongest man has a breaking point. Your wife's horrific death," Brandon paused, knowing the pain he inflicted with his words, "the death of your child, and your mistreatment at the hands of a madman... Only one of those would have been enough to break most men. You survived. You are still here. You are just in need of help to recover. The mind is no different from the body. If you had a broken limb, you would have to let it rest. You need to let your mind and soul rest." Brandon rose and returned to the desk chair. "The medication I gave you will do just that."

Joe shifted uneasily.

"Are you able to turn your mind off, Joe? Can you banish the flames and the images of being hunted like an animal on your own?"

His jaw was tight; his nostrils flared as if he was preparing to fight. "You know I can't."

"The medication will allow you to do so. That is all. If you take it as I prescribed, an hour or so before you go to sleep, it will help your body and your mind to rest."

"I should be able to do that on my own."

Doctor Brandon leaned back and sighed. "Should. How I wish I could banish that word from mankind's vocabulary." He paused before going on. "You know most of my patients up until recently were veterans?"

Joe nodded.

" 'What if?' 'I should have.' Do you know how many men, how many families have been ruined by those words? How many lives lost?" The older man leaned forward and met his defiant stare. "Joe, if you are having suicidal feelings, then you are in danger. I don't want to go to your father –"

"You can't tell Pa!" he exclaimed.

"I can and I will. If I think your life is in danger, I have an obligation to do so." Brandon looked right at him. "However, I am willing to wait so long as you take your medication as prescribed and continue to come see me at least every two weeks. Joe, you are my responsibility now." The doctor hesitated. "I would like to say as well, that you are my friend. I like you, Joe. The last thing I want to do is see you hurt."

He left the word 'yourself' unspoken, but it hung between them.

"How many doses have you skipped?"

Joe scowled. "I took one yesterday."

"And the day before?"

He shook his head. "About three days last week."

"You need to take it every night. Don't skip any doses. All right? If that doesn't work, the next time you come, we'll up the dose to three pills. I'd hate to go any higher, but you can take up to four."

"Two is more than enough," he grumbled.

Doctor Brandon stared at him a moment and then laughed. "I was warned about you Cartwrights. Did you know that? You and your father are quite well known in Carson City."

"So what was the warning?"

"That the good Lord created man and made him single-minded and determined, and then he made the Cartwrights and gave them a double dose!"

A smile tickled his lips. "Sounds like you've been talking to people who know us."

Again, the older man rose to his feet and came to stand before the desk. He waited until Joe rose as well to speak. "I know you can't hear this now, Joe, but I am going to say it anyway. I admire you. You are not a quitter, no matter what you think at the moment. You have inspired me in the time I have known you and you will continue to do so, I am sure, as your recovery progresses."

He didn't know what to say. Telling your doctor he was a liar didn't seem to be an option.

The blond man held out his hand. "Until next time?"

Joe took it. "Thank you, Doctor Brandon."

"Bev, please. I think we know each other well enough now."

Forcing a smile, he agreed. "Bev. See you in two weeks."

"Be sure to schedule it with Jennie. That way I'll know if you back out," Bev said with a hint of a smile.

The Joe Cartwright he had been would have laughed and made some cocky remark. But he wasn't the Joe Cartwright he had been.

Instead Joe nodded and walked out the door.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Jamie Cartwright drew his mount to a halt and slid from her back. After tethering the animal to the rail, he started for the house. He'd gone to town on his own to pick up the mail and just arrived back. It was supper time and he caught the scent of pot roast with root vegetables on the wind. It made him smile. Hop Sing's roast beef was one of his favorite things on the earth. There'd be a big hunk of beef sitting in the center of the china platter, swimming in red wine and juices and surrounded by parsnips, potatoes and carrots. You couldn't beat it!

Jamie halted just outside of the front door, stopped by a sudden unwelcome thought. Pot roast was one of his big brother's favorites as well, though sometimes it made Joe sad when Hop Sing served it as it reminded him of Hoss. It reminded him of Hoss too, but the thought made him happy 'cause he could see the big man sitting there, claiming all of it and laughing at they tried to get their share.

Sometimes it seemed like Joe had forgotten how to laugh.

While he stood there, thinking, the door opened and his pa stepped out.

"Jamie! I was just wondering about you." The older man looked at his empty hands. "Did you get the mail?"

He knew he had a tendency to be a bit forgetful. It seemed like his mind was always running away with him and he was thinking of the next thing before he had the current one done.

"Sorry, Pa. It's in the saddlebag. I'll go get it."

It only took a moment. Jamie pulled the pile of letters out of the leather satchel, tied it off, and headed for the house. Pa was waiting for him and put an arm around his shoulder to let him know he wasn't mad, and then the two of them headed into the house. Once they were inside, the older man headed for the kitchen to let Hop Sing know they were ready to eat. As his pa disappeared around the corner, Jamie began to file through the letters. He'd sent for information from a couple of veterinary colleges and was expecting to hear back any day. He hadn't really decided if he was going to go to school or not, but Pa and Joe both said it never hurt to look into things. Most of the letters were common stuff. None were from the colleges. There was one that he found interesting. The envelope was made of really expensive paper, like the kind documents were written on, and it was blue.

It smelled too. Like a girl.

"What do you have there?"

He looked up to find that Pa was back. Jamie held the envelope out. "It's for you." He paused and then added with a mischievous smile. "You got a girl you ain't told me about?"

"Is there no return address?" the older man asked as he came to claim it.

Jamie shook his head. "Nope."

Pa turned the letter over and checked the back. "Hmm," was all he said.

"You gonna open it?"

At the moment Hop Sing called them to supper. His pa went to his chair and placed the letter on the table beside it. Then he took his arm and directed him to the table.

As they sat down Jamie looked at the empty chair opposite him and asked, "When's Joe due back?"

The older man opened his napkin and placed it on his lap. "Your older brother is...less forthcoming about his movements than he used to be."

Jamie waited. "So you don't know."

Pa sighed as he glanced at the door. "I don't know. I had hoped he would be back by supper."

It was legendary how many nights Pa had sat up waiting for his older brother when Joe was the youngest Cartwright in the house. He'd tried real hard not to make his pa worry about him, though it hadn't always worked.

"I bet he'll be back before we're done," he said encouragingly.

By the time they finished, Joe had still not appeared.

As Hop Sing cleared the table, the two of them went into the great room and sat down. He'd left the book he was reading there. It was one from Adam's old room. It had a funny name, Les Misérables, which his pa had told him meant 'the miserables'. Victor Hugo had written it. At first he'd passed it by, but after opening it and reading a few pages, he found out that the story was really good. It was big book and he'd been working on it for some time. As his pa took a seat in the red leather chair, Jamie parked on the settee and picked it up. It wasn't until ten minutes or so later that he remembered the mysterious envelope and looked up to see if Pa had opened it.

The older man was sitting with the letter in his right hand. Two fingers of his left hand were perched on his lips and he was staring into the fire.

It looked like it might have been bad news.

"Pa? Is something wrong?"

The older man started. He remained as he was for a moment and then straightened up. "No," he said at last, "in fact I think it might be the best news I've had in a while."

When he said nothing more, the redhead asked, "Can you tell me why?"

His pa thought a moment. "Do you trust me, Jamie?"

It kind of startled him, that question. "Of course I do."

"Then, you'll believe me when I tell you that I can't explain right now."

The question was out before he could stop it. "Does it have to do with Joe?"

The older man opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment the door opened and along with a chill wind, the object of his question blew in. Joe removed his gun belt and placed it on the credenza. Then he parked his hat and green jacket by the door. When he saw them sitting in the great room, he looked mildly surprised and mightily embarrassed.

"Sorry I'm late, Pa."

Their pa rose to his feet and went over to meet him. "How are you, son?" he asked softly.

For a moment, Joe said nothing. When he saw him looking, he said, "Hey, Jamie."

"Hey, Joe," he replied.

The silence that followed was awful.

Pa stirred at last. "I'll go tell Hop Sing to fix you a plate."

As he turned to leave, Joe caught his arm. "Pa, please. I'd like to talk to you first. And to Jamie. If that's okay."

Pa reached up and cupped Joe's cheek in his hand. He nodded.

Jamie watched them as they came over to the hearth. He had to admit that when he first came to the Ponderosa, he'd been a little jealous of how close the two of them were. He'd loved his own pa, but he'd never known that kind of closeness and he'd longed for it. It didn't take him long to realize that Ben Cartwright had more than enough love to go around. Now, when he saw them together, it just made him realize how lucky he was.

How lucky Joe was.

They all sat down. Joe took a seat on the hearth and stared into the fire for so long they both thought he wasn't going to speak. Then, suddenly, he did.

"I owe you both an apology for today, and for what happened yesterday with Ramsey." He snorted. "Well, for just about everything, really."

Jamie shuddered at the memory of the big man pounding on Joe. He was glad Pa had pressed charges and Abel Ramsey was in jail so he couldn't go after his big brother again.

Pa was shaking his head. "Son, there's no need –"

"Yeah, Pa. There is. I've haven't..." Joe stopped and then started again. "I've only been thinking about myself. I've caused both of you a lot of grief. I'm sorry."

"It's all right, son –"

Joe's temper flared. "No, it's not! I've been sulking like a little kid, like no one in the world ever went through what I've...gone through." He drew a calming breath. "For God's sake, Pa, you lost three wives!"

Pa hesitated. His words were quiet. "But none in the way you lost Alice, Joe. And none of them were carrying my child at the time."

They hesitated to speak of it. Almost like when they did, they were telling Joe something he didn't know.

He did, of course.

Joe's jaw was tight and tears shone in his green eyes. "You lost a child too, Pa," he said quietly.

"And you lost a brother."

Joe sniffed. Then his older brother looked at him. There was a hint of a smile.

"And gained one."

He grinned back.

"You look tired, Joe. Maybe we should continue this tomorrow."

Pa was right. Joe looked all in. He'd lost weight recently and he knew he'd hardly slept at all. Their bedrooms were near to each other and he'd heard him getting up every night and going downstairs. Joe's skin was usually a deep golden color. It was pale now and all pinched around his eyes and lips. Jamie met his brother's gaze. There was something missing in those green eyes.

A kind of light that had gone out.

Joe ran a hand over his face. He smiled in that way he had when he was kind of embarrassed, where one eye winked and his lips curled up at one end.

"I look that bad, huh?"

When Pa said nothing, he piped up. "Just don't go to near the horses, Joe. You know how skittish they are. You might scare them away."

Joe's eyes widened and then took on a look of trouble. Before Jamie knew it, his big brother was over the table and had plowed into him. It took a second to realize Joe wasn't angry, he was just pretendin' to be mad like he used to before...everything. Joe caught him in his arms and they rolled off the sofa and hit the floor. After tumblin' a couple of times, Joe hugged him. He held him for all he was worth. Then, he began to cry. He didn't say nothin'. He just shook.

Jamie hugged his brother back and they sat there, with pa watching, until –completely exhausted – Joe fell asleep in his arms.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Later that night, after he had seen Joseph to bed and sat and talked with him as he had done when his son was a child, Ben Cartwright returned to the great room and his red leather chair and the envelope he'd left laying on the table beside it. He sat down and picked it up, withdrew the letter from inside it elegant housing, and read the lines written on the parchment paper again.

Dearest Ben,

I am coming to see you. Please don't tell Joe. I have to come, and I know he would try to stop me if he knew. Don't blame yourself. You didn't reveal his secret. It wasn't what you said in your last letter, but his silence that alerted me to the fact that something is terrible wrong. My little brother and I board the steamship 'City of Chester' tomorrow. It will take a month or so for us to reach the Ponderosa. I wasn't going to write at all, but when Benjamin decided to join me – he's the one named for you – I decided I had best confess. I thought you should know there would be two of us imposing on you instead of one.

I can see you face – that slight frown, the way your forehead furrows and the skin crinkles at the corners of your eyes. I know you think me foolish. Most likely I can't do anything to help, but I have to try. I love your son. I have always loved him. The biggest mistake of my life was running from him. No matter what happens, whether Joe accepts me or turns me away, you know I always will.

Bella Carnaby Ashton

Ben ran a hand under his left eye to wipe away the moisture. He was glad Jamie had gone to bed as well. The boy wasn't there to be upset by his tears.

Replacing the letter in the envelope, the older man rose and went to his desk. He opened the drawer where he kept his personal correspondence – the one the boys knew was taboo to rummage through – and placed the envelope inside. Then he went to the front door and stepped out. Ben stood for a moment, looking toward town, and then went and sat in the rocking chair near the door. With winter coming on the old chair that had witnessed so much of his life at this house would soon move inside, but for the moment it remained and held a comfort of its own.

The autumn air was crisp and cool. He found it reminiscent of the last time Bella Carnaby had graced their home with her sweet and ebullient spirit. It was hard to believe it had been eight long years. Harder still to believe that she'd been only eighteen and yet had known she loved his son with a passion that time would not dull. He'd been aware that she was in love with Joseph, but had thought her a child. He'd thought hers was the kind of love a girl in her teens has – a love filled with wild romantic notions and based on physical attraction. At the time be didn't believe it to be the deep, sure kind you needed to marry. Rising, the older man took a few steps away from the house and looked up at his son's window.

He wondered now what Bella's life – what Joe's life – might have been if he had encouraged rather than discouraged them to pursue their feelings.

Ben pursed his lips and shook his head, cutting that line of thought short. What was done was done. It was time to look to the future.

And maybe, just maybe, with Bella's return his son would have one.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe stepped back from the window and dropped the curtain. He'd caught a glimpse of his father outside in the yard and it made his heart sink. Now that he was older and had spent the months he had with Alice thinking about the responsibility of rearing a child, he understood the deep grief he'd caused his father over the years.

Understood the deep grief he was causing him now.

The curly-haired man went to his bed and dropped onto it and placed his head in his hands. Why couldn't he stop this constant jumble of emotion that had him at the point of tears one moment and angry enough to kill the next? Why was he continually plagued with horrific images when he closed his eyes – Alice standing in the window of their house screaming as she burned, his child running toward him, aflame.

And God damn him, Tanner. Bill Tanner. Always one step behind, always his cast shadow overtaking him.

He'd awakened from more nightmares than he could count a second after Tanner put the nose of his rifle against his head and only a second before the gun went off.

Why? Why was he so weak?

Joe glanced at his dresser. There was a bottle of whiskey there. Pa knew about it and hadn't said anything – letting him fight his own demons, he guessed. He'd thought about drowning his sorrows. He'd done it before and not all that long ago. After the nitroglycerin explosion that blinded him, he 'd thought his life was over. He'd sunk into so deep a melancholia that it seemed to him, at the time, that there was no way out. He hadn't told anyone then, but he had just wanted it to end. He didn't want to go on living if he was impaired; if he could only be a burden to those he loved.

Well, he damn well was a burden to them now.

Lifting his head, Joe turned and looked at the nightstand by his bed. Rising slowly, wearily, he went over to it and opened the drawer and drew out the small amber-colored bottle he had filled at the apothecary before leaving Carson City. He'd asked the man behind the counter about what was in it and been told that the pill was known for its effectiveness to treat cholera, several kinds of pain, and to help distracted persons. Joe snorted.

'Distracted'.

What a polite word for someone who was crazy.

Sitting on the edge of the bed again, Joe opened the bottle and let two of the little blue pills spill into his hand. The trouble was he didn't like what they did to him. They made him nauseous and he was thirsty all the time. Worst of all, he needed to make more than the normal amount of runs to the outhouse, which was mighty hard thing to do when you were a man riding fence-line all day or driving cattle across the land.

On top of all that, just the fact that he needed to take them made him feel like a failure.

With a sigh, he recapped the bottle and returned it to the nightstand. Rising, Joe walked over to the other side of the bed and poured himself a glass of water. He stood there for a moment, staring at the pills. In spite of what he had told the doctor, he'd never taken two at once. He'd figured one was more than enough.

Joe placed the pills on his tongue. He tossed a half glass of water after them, swallowed, and then laid down on his bed fully clothed. Within half an hour, he'd drifted off and passed the entire night in untroubled sleep.

His sleep was untroubled, all right.

It was when he woke in the morning that the nightmare truly began.