It took several weeks for the epidemic to end and quarantine to be lifted. By then there were forty dead and not a signal family that wasn't affected. Virginia City seemed to run on autopilot for a week or two as they tried to come to terms with the mortality of the situation. The dead were buried, some of them in plots, most in a mass grave. Whole families were buried on their property and their former homes burned for fear of contagion. Shops did their best to restock their shelves; shop owners having a difficult time trying to convince the stage companies that the epidemic was over. In all, it was a very grim time for everyone. But for the Cartwrights, there was a glimmer of hope that grew stronger everyday.
Joe was well enough to return home. The fever hadn't returned and the cough was just about gone. Each day he was becoming more and more alert and active. When he wasn't sleeping he was complaining about being cooped up and it fell onto old Hoss to entertain him.
"Whys can't I goes home?" Joe slurred a bit crossed.
"'Cause the Doc hasn't said ya could yet. Now, do ya want the red checkers or the black ones?" Hoss would say patiently while Ben, Adam, and Paul looked on worriedly.
"My best guess, and the only reason I can offer, is that the fever did more damage then I first thought," Paul said one afternoon as the three gathered in his office.
"What kind of damage Paul?" Ben asked, his heart nearly stopping. He had just gotten his son back; he didn't think he could handle another crisis.
"Well, you noticed that his words are slurred, and his left side seems to sag. His left eye's gone a bit lazy to boot. Plus his memory lose," Paul said with a sigh.
"But isn't that normal after a fever as high as Joe's was, doesn't it go away?" Adam asked from behind his mask.
"Yes, it sometimes occurs in children after a fever, but it also occurs after a stroke and with how sick Joe was and how close to death he was it's quite possible that he had a stroke."
The room stilled for a moment as the news sunk in. Each man there knew very well what a stroke was capable of. The horror of the idea that a twelve year old boy could withstand something that killed grown men was overwhelming and threatened to suck the father and brother into new pits of nightmares.
"Is there anything that can be done? Anyway to help him recover?" Adam asked after a minute or two.
Paul thought for a moment, going over his various medical texts in his mind. He wanted to be certain before answering, not only because he hated to give false hope, but this was a close friend's son that he was attempting to cure. More importantly this was a little boy who was possibly facing life as a cripple if he didn't get this right.
"There have been some therapies that seem to work. For his eye I could put a patch over the right one to see if it could strengthen the left. Making him walk and use his arm and keeping him reasonably active might help him regain the strength in his left side. But nothing to much Ben, no chores for awhile, just light exercise. As for his memory, I'm not sure that he'll ever get it back but you can always try just seeing how much he remembers."
"That seems simple enough," Ben said a bit distracted. It was no secret where the father wanted to be at the moment and both Paul and Adam could take the hint.
"Tell you what Pa, Hoss and I will head home and tell Hop Sing we're bringing the scamp back tomorrow morning. I'm sure he'll want the notice and besides, I'm tired of Hotel beds and Café food," Adam suggested.
Ben smiled at his eldest son gratefully, "That be most appreciated Adam, thank you."