SEVEN

Charles Ingalls stepped back and looked at the man sitting on the bed. Joe Cartwright was pale and breathing hard and nothing if not determined. He was up and dressed. Caroline had laid out a pair of his trousers and that extra plaid shirt she'd made him out of the same material Mary had chosen for his Christmas present the year before. He felt like a rich man with two shirts exactly the same! Joe looked good in the blue and green fabric with that silver hair of his shining in the morning light that streamed in the window. It had been something getting him into the trousers, working over that bandaged leg, but the second Doctor Baker had declared him fit to leave the bed behind no amount of pain was going to stop the younger man from sitting at the breakfast table with them. Behind him, in the kitchen, he could hear Caroline giving orders to the girls. All three were up and dressed and ready to head out to school as soon as they finished eating. They were helping to set the table now and were looking forward to getting to know Joe a little better.

Doctor Baker had come that morning right at the crack of dawn. He'd been up and out and tending to the animals when he heard the physician's buggy roll in. Caroline was rousing the girls as he and the Doc entered the house and went to the room where the wounded man lay. Hiram checked Joe's arm and leg wounds, pronounced them nearly infection free, and said they were healing nicely. The blond man remarked on Joe's amazing constitution, mentioning that wounds like that would have laid most any other men low for near on a month. Doc Baker had looked over his shoulder at him and made a remark about 'the fastest healing ribs in the East' before turning back to the other man and finishing his examination. At the end he told Joe he could get up and do a little bit of light work if his leg would take it.

They could both tell that the younger man was champing at the bit to be on the move.

Leaving Joe in the room and telling him he'd be back soon to help him dress, Charles had accompanied the medical man outside at his request, figuring the Doc had some instructions for him concerning their guest. When they got to the physician's buggy, Hiram turned and looked back at the house. As he did, he frowned.

"Is there somethin' wrong?" he asked.

The blond man pursed his lips. "I'm not sure."

"You said Joe was better."

"Oh, he's better – physically – its his mental condition that has me worried." He answered as he glanced at him. "You know he's depressed."

He nodded.

"Joe asked me to give him whiskey for the pain." Hiram's eyes were trained on the house. "He's a grown man and he's in pain, so I couldn't really say 'no'. I left a bottle with him."

Charles sensed there was more. "And?"

"Just check the contents when you get a chance. I told him to take no more than one or two ounces every four hours or so." Hiram looked at him, his bright blue eyes narrowed. "I could tell by the way he downed the first dose that he's no stranger to liquor."

"Joe doesn't strike me as an inebriate," he replied.

"I don't think he is," Doc Baker answered. "I think he's a man with a demon plaguing him and the alcohol puts it to sleep for a time. But you know what that can do to a man. That demon wakes up and its angrier and harder to subdue the next time."

"I'll keep watch."

"Thank you, Charles. I really do feel he's an admirable young man. I think life has handed him some hard blows that he doesn't think he can weather. Maybe you can help him to see that he can."

"I'm willing to try," he replied.

The Doc was staring at him. "Remarkable," he said.

"What?"

"The resemblance. You two look like you were cut out of the same mold ten years apart."

Charles laughed. "With him looking older or me?"

Doctor Baker returned his grin. "Well, with that gray hair he has, I'm betting most people would think you were the younger one." He paused and added with a wink, "Looks like Caroline's been robbing the cradle."

That conversation had taken place two hours before. He'd eyed the bottle now and looked full.

Maybe Joe did just need it for the pain.

"You ready?" he asked with a smile.

Joe looked up at him and nodded. Charles had fashioned a crutch for the wounded man. He handed it to him now and watched as Joe found his balance with it. He nodded his thanks and said, "It's great. But I can get around without it."

"The Doc thought it was best to keep your weight off of your leg for a few more days. You may not need it, but it can't hurt."

"Charles?" Caroline called from the other room.

"What is it, Darlin'?" he replied.

"Breakfast is ready whenever you and Joe are."

He glanced at Joe who nodded and then replied, "Be there shortly!"

Charles let Joe enter the passageway before him. Trailing behind he watched as the young man maneuvered his way down it and into the common room. From the look of it, it wouldn't' be too long before Joe'd be able to be up and around, though riding a horse was gonna take longer. Maybe he could find a few simple chores for Joe to do today. He knew what it was like being forced to rest when you felt you were capable of being up and about things. It always chafed on him. He was sure it did on Joe too.

After breakfast, he'd take him outside. It would do him good.

Caroline smiled in greeting as Joe Cartwright appeared at the end of the hall.

"Well, good morning!" she said cheerfully.

Joe nodded as he made his way to the table. Charles took the crutch from him and she watched as Joe gingerly lowered himself into one of the wooden chairs.

"Everything all right?" she asked.

Another nod. "It's good."

"Mary, please bring the bread to the table."

"I got the jam, Ma," Laura said. "Blackberry."

Joe smiled at her. "Now how did you know that was my favorite?"

Her middle daughter beamed as her placed the jam jar on the table. "Mine too!"

"Did you make it?" he asked.

"She helped," Caroline answered. "All the girls did."

"All?" he asked, seemingly puzzled. "I thought you only had two."

"Three!" Charles declared as he came into the room with Carrie in his arms. "You were so sick we figured you didn't need a young'un under foot. This is Carrie. Carrie, say 'hi' to Joe."

Carrie looked at the young man and then at her pa, and then back. She looked confused too. Finally, her little fingers curled and she waved.

Joe smiled. It was forced.

"Morning, Carrie," he said. "Nice to meet you."

Charles put her down. She crossed over to Joe and reached out. For a moment, their guest appeared confused. Then he snorted. Bending down, Joe let their youngest child touch his silver-gray hair.

"Pretty," she said.

Caroline heard her husband snicker. "We'll see if she says that when I go gray."

Carrie continued to look at Joe. Then she started to climb into his lap.

"Whoa!" Charles said. "Joe's got a bad leg, Carrie."

"It's all right." The young man's voice was strained. "I can take it."

Caroline watched as Joe positioned their youngest on his good leg. He smiled at Carrie as she reached up and touched his cheek.

Then, tears entered his eyes.

Charles waited a moment before scooping Carrie up and taking her to her chair. "You girls are gonna be late for school if you don't quit lollygagging'," he said. "Best get to it."

"Yes, sir," Mary and Laura said in chorus.

During breakfast the girls asked Joe about where he came from. He told them his pa had a ranch in Nevada. When they found out Nevada was almost two thousand miles away they couldn't believe anyone could travel that far. Then their pa reminded them that the home they'd had in Kansas was about one thousand miles away and between getting there and coming back they'd traveled just as far as Joe had. That made their eyes light up! Joe asked them then about their journeys and Charles told him about starting in Pepin, Wisconsin and the long road that had brought them to Walnut Grove.

As she listened to them talk Caroline realized the two men had a lot in common. Both were strong and determined, quick to laugh and quick to shed tears. They both felt things deeply and seemed to be driven by an inner sense of right and wrong. There was one difference though that made the two men like night and day.

When Charles said grace before they started their meal, Joe hadn't bowed his head.

Now the girls were clearing the dishes and grabbing their school books and kissing her and their pa goodbye before running out of the door, shouting hurried goodbyes. Carrie had climbed down from her chair and gone back to Joe. It was amazing how young attraction began. She needed to go to the outhouse and she asked Joe to take her.

Before either one of them could scold her, Joe agreed.

"I need the exercise," he said as he grabbed his crutch and headed for the door. He nodded as Charles opened it for him and then watched the younger man move across the stoop and onto the ground. Carrie ran beside him, dancing and chattering along as Joe painfully made his way to the small shack outside.

Charles turned and looked at her. "Did you see?"

She nodded. "Poor man. He's lost so much."

Her husband looked thoughtful. "When he came here, I believed God had sent him so we could help him. I'm not so sure now. He doesn't seem to want help."

"Joe's as stubborn as you are, Charles," she said, crossing to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. "He's bound and determined life's been unfair to him."

Charles circled her waist with his arm. "I wonder who taught him to expect otherwise?"

She paused and then said. "In some ways, he reminds me of the girls. I think Joe's still a child at heart, and that child has been devastated by everything its been handed."

He was silent a moment. Then Charles said quietly, "Joe must be very dear to God's heart."

"Oh?"

He nodded. "When Freddie died, the reverend told me God can't bless a man greatly until He has hurt him deeply."

She leaned her head on her husband's shoulder. She knew how much the loss of their son had hurt him. He loved his girls, but he had so wanted a boy. She took his hand.

"Then it up to us to show Joe he has not been abandoned, and that God has a purpose for his life."

Charles looked at her. He leaned down and kissed her and then let her go.

"Right now," he said, nodding toward the young man who was steadily hobbling toward them with Carrie at his side, "I'd say that purpose was to help get the milkin' done. Look at him go!"

Clayton Crew stirred and looked up. The sun was past its zenith. He'd apparently fallen asleep on the watch. It wasn't so much that he was tired as he was just plain bored. He'd watched Joe Cartwright come out of the house and go to the barn at the beginning of the day. It seemed he had been right and Cartwright was working for the Ingalls for some reason. Maybe for room and board, he didn't know. But he sure was work prickle. The last time he'd seen him he'd been checking fences. That had been about seven o'clock in the morning.

Dave was not gonna be happy if he'd lost track of him.

The black-haired man sat up and stretched, and then climbed to his feet and shifted forward until he was right behind the clump of plum bushes. It was a good vantage point, a little ways up a hill. He had a clear view of the Ingalls' house and yard. Rising up, he looked over the tips of the leaves and let out a sigh of relief. Cartwright was there. Walking toward the barn. There was another man following him. He was older, with gray hair, and was moving like he'd been injured. He had a crutch and was obviously favoring his left leg. Clayton nodded as he watched the two men enter the barn. That explained it. Charles Ingalls was injured and Joe Cartwright was lending a hand until he recovered. Maybe they were friends. Or maybe Cartwright's father knew the man. Whatever it was, it explained the rancher's son staying on the Ingalls' farm instead of heading to La Crosse.

As he continued to watch, Clayton heard a horse blow air and a voice call out, "Whoa!" Rising, he returned to the place where he'd been sleeping and found Dave Donavan dismounting.

"Hey, Dave," he said, "you get an answer from Poavey?"

Dave walked toward him. "Sure did. Nothing's changed. We're to stop Joe and send a clear signal to Ben Cartwright that him and his business ain't wanted here." The blond man looked past him. "Joe still at the Ingalls' place?"

Clayton nodded. "Looks like Ingalls is injured and Joe's helping out. The farmer's using a crutch. I think somethin' happened to his leg."

"Oh?" Dave pushed past him. He went to the bushes and crouched down. "Where are they now?"

"In the barn," he said as he joined the other man.

"You been watchin' the routine?"

Dave had asked him to do that before he went. "Yeah. Same everyday. Up at the crack of dawn checking on the animals. Breakfast with Ingalls and his family. Back out to do more chores and then into the fields." He paused. "Then back again to tend the animals and work in the barn at the end of the day."

The blond man looked at the sky. "It's about one o'clock. So that means we got us some time to rest. About eight hours, I reckon."

"What happens in eight hours?" Clayton asked.

"That's the time it gets dark. Cartwright will be in the barn. We can take him then."

The black-haired man frowned. "Take him? What for?"

"We're gonna teach Joe Cartwright some manners. He needs to learn where he's wanted and where he's not."

Clayton heard something he didn't like in the other man's voice. "You're not plannin' on hurtin' him? I mean, really hurtin' him? Are you?"

"Me?" Dave laughed. "Why, Joe and me is old friends. I just want to talk to him and, maybe, do a little persuadin'."

Clayton looked over his shoulder. The gray-haired man was leaving the barn and heading back to the house. "What about Ingalls?"

Dave sat down and then laid back on the grass, pulling his hat over his eyes. "We'll just have to hope Mister Ingalls stays out of our way."

"What if he doesn't?"

For a moment Dave remained still. Then he tipped his hat up and focused his pale, cold eyes on him.

"Then Mister Ingalls will be laid up for a while longer."

He and Joe had worked hard through the afternoon. Several times he'd asked the younger man if he wanted to stop, but Joe had insisted he was fine. He'd managed to milk the cow using his right hand. The cats had been happy as Joe spilled about as much as he got in the bucket. Still, he wasn't going to say anything since it seemed important to the other man to be doing things. Joe was good with tackle and he'd cleaned and greased the harnesses, checking all the points and making sure everything was in order. He'd braided leather straps and helped him to fix an old wagon wheel and then, suddenly, he'd worn out. He was standing now, watching Joe work his way back to the house. The work had done him good. The difference between the possible and the impossible lay in a person's determination and Joe Cartwright was about the most determined individual he'd ever met. Charles grinned.

'Present company excluded,' Caroline would say.

Having finished for the moment in the barn, Charles put on his hat and headed out the door. The crops were waiting. The corn wasn't completely ripe, but it was close. It was gonna be hard what with the mill starting up again and the crop coming ripe at the same time. Having Joe here might just turn out to be a blessing, unless of course he decided to up and disappear in the middle of the night once his wounds were mostly healed.

It wouldn't surprise him.

The problem was – and Joe didn't seem to know this – that there wasn't any way you could run far enough or hard enough when the one you were running from was yourself. It was always there, for all of them, that yearning to escape. He'd felt it when Freddie died. For just a moment – one gut-wrenching moment – he'd wanted to run too. Everything hurt. Seeing the girls without their little brother in their arms. Looking at Caroline, her arms empty too, and seeing the pain in her eyes.

Looking at himself in the mirror and wondering if there was something more he could have done.

The difference between him and Joe was that, much as he hurt, he hadn't tried to run from God. Now, once God had you, He was gonna hold onto you. The Lord Jehovah was jealous, Deuteronomy said, 'For the LORD your God is a consuming fire, a jealous God.' There weren't no way God was gonna let Joe Cartwright go whether he wanted Him to or not. Something was gonna come into Joe's life that would show him the truth and, knowing the Lord, it wasn't gonna be simple or easy or anything Joe wanted.

It was gonna be cold, hard truth.

Charles shifted his hat on his head. He glanced at the house. Joe had disappeared inside. He'd be alone as Caroline had gone to town to deliver eggs and then wait on the girls. They had a meeting at the school after class was over to make plans for the Thanksgiving program, and then the Edwards had invited them for supper. He'd been invited too, but he'd declined.

He didn't think it was wise to leave Joe alone.

Joe had fallen asleep the minute his head hit the pillow. He woke now to early evening shadows and a pale wash of purple-pink light spilling in the open window. Sitting up, he tested his leg and then cautiously rose to his feet. It hurt like Hell, but he was able to put his weight on it and grinned as he limped over to the window without the crutch. In the distance he could see Charles Ingalls moving through his fields. The farmer was checking the grain, no doubt feeling blessed and fulfilled like a man should after a hard day's labor.

He didn't feel full. He felt empty.

It had started when Charles youngest girl had climbed into his lap and the feeling had continued throughout the day as he made himself useful, hoping the ache would go away or at least be lost somewhere in pain and fatigue. Sadly, like the close-fitting gloves he had donned, he seemed unable to shed it. As he stood there, looking out, he grew angry with himself. Why was he so weak? Why couldn't he move on? His pa had lost three wives, for God's sake! He'd only lost one. Charles had lost a son. Charles whose faith was unshaken. Why was his? Why couldn't he reconcile the good and loving God his father had taught him about with the one who had let his brother die so young, let his family die – let him be tortured...

Joe sank to the bed. He knew why. It was something else his pa always said. "Nothing happens that God does not permit or allow, son. 'The lot is cast into the lap; but the whole disposing thereof is of the Lord', he'd quote.

So God allowed Alice and his child to burn to death. God allowed Hoss to die. God allowed Bill Tanner to hunt him down like an animal and to torment and torture him and almost kill him.

Why?

WHY?

Joe sucked in a sob and then turned and looked at the bottle of whiskey on the table. An ounce or two. That's all he'd take. An ounce or two to dull the pain.

Or, maybe three.

When Charles returned from the fields, he went to the house.

Joe was gone.

He looked everywhere. In the loft. In the outhouse. At the sod house and around outside. Finally, he headed for the barn and that was where he found him, slumped in the corner of a stall, covered with mud and muck and the stinking filth left by the horses; an empty whiskey bottle in his hand.

Dead drunk.

Charles was a patient man, not easily riled.

But he had had enough.

Striding across the barn, his anger mounting with each step, he bent and caught Joe by the collar of his borrowed shirt and hauled him to his feet. Joe blinked and fought for focus. His green eyes were glassy. Charles shouldn't have, but he shook him.

Hard.

"What is wrong with you? Do you think you are the only man in the world who has suffered loss? Wake up! You're not alone!" He paused to draw a calming breath. He was angry, but his heart bled for this man. "You will be alone if you don't stop this!"

Joe scoffed. He almost lost his footing, but steadied himself with a hand to the stall wall. "Maybe I want to be alone."

"So you want to be alone? Well, what about those who love you? "

"They're dead," he whined.

"They're dead? They're all dead. What about your father? Joe? Do you ever think of him?"

"I always think of him!" he snapped.

"Oh. Do you? Did you think of him when you left that train without leaving word where you were going? Did you think of a father's pain when his child goes missing? Did you think of what he would think of you drinking yourself into a stupor? Does this make him proud?"

That stung. Joe scowled. "You leave my pa out of this."

"It's you brought him into this when you turned away from everything he taught you! When you took to drinkin' to drown your sorrows." He shook him again. His voice broke. "Do you have any idea how you are breaking your father's heart? You need to be a man. You need to grow up!"

Apparently those were fighting words for Joe Cartwright. He stiffened, bellowed like an angry bull –

And charged.

Charles had thought he was prepared. He wasn't. Joe Cartwright was a well-muscled man, formed by a life of ranching, and he had all the fury of desperation behind him. The power of his charge drove them both into the stall wall and splintered the boards at his back.

For a moment he thought his back had broken with them.

They were both laying on the ground, breathing hard. Joe was pounding on him, but he was sobbing harder than he struck.

"God. God. God," he said, over and over. "God..."

He caught the grieving man's fist with his hand. Joe raised his head and they looked at one another.

Then Charles drew him into his arms and let him cry.

"They're both in the barn," Clayton said. "I saw them go in."

Dave nodded. "There's no one else here. Ingalls' wife and kids are gone. Now's the time."

"You're sure about this? They'll come lookin' for him, you know?"

"Who? The men in the town? They don't care one lick about a stranger."

The black-haired man frowned. "What about Ingalls?"

Dave 's lips curled with a smirk. "We ain't gonna take him. We're just gonna put him out of commission for a while. Shouldn't be hard with that game leg of his."

Clayton swallowed over a lump of fear. When he'd first signed on with Dave to carry out Mister Poavey's orders, he'd liked the other man. The more he got to know him, that 'like' was turning to fear. When it came to the Cartwrights, Dave was unhinged.

"You ain't gonna kill Cartwright, are you?" he asked again.

"Not so long as he behaves," Dave sneered. "Then again, Joe Cartwright ain't ever been known to behave."

Joe was completely spent. He couldn't even lift his head. He was laying on top of Charles in the middle of the barn floor, his head and body aching like he'd been run over in a stampede. His arm was hurting too and he was bleeding again. He could feel the blood spreading underneath the homespun cloth of the trousers he wore. When he lifted his head the world spun. Charles was leaning back, his hands anchored in the matted straw that lined the barn floor.

"Are you done?" the older man asked.

Joe snorted. He nodded and then tried to extricate himself from the tangled mess they were in by raising up on his arms and crawling backwards. He made it about three feet before he felt the urge to throw up. Charles shifted to his knees and held him as he lost every bit of food in his stomach. Chagrinned he looked up at the other man.

"Well," Charles said with a tolerant smile, "it ain't like I could smell any worse."

Joe muttered something.

"What was that?"

"...sorry."

Charles refused to let him look away. "Are you? Are you really?"

He nodded, and then retched again.

"I never thought I'd find a man more wretched with drinking than Isaiah," the other man said softly. "You take the cake, Joseph Francis Cartwright. You know that?"

Joe snorted. "You sound like my pa."

"Your long-sufferin' pa, I imagine." Charles shifted and rose to his feet. Rising, he held his hand out. "Can you stand?"

"...don't know."

"Well, since I don't think the barn floor is doin' any good for that leg wound, let's give it a try. All right?" He wiggled his fingers. "Take hold."

Joe shook his head. His consciousness was drifting. "I'll just sleep here..."

He heard the other man sigh. "I ain't leavin' you layin' out here in the cold all night. Doc Baker'll have my hide." Joe felt the other man's arms circle his waist. "Come on, Joe. Give me some help here."

He didn't have the strength to fight and so Joe put everything he had left in him into getting to his feet. Charles held him as he wobbled and then, together, they began to make their way back to the house. They had just left the barn behind when Charles stopped.

"What's wrong?" Joe asked, slurring even those two words.

Charles was frowning. "You hear that?"

Joe listened. It sounded like a dog barking in the distance – or from within a structure.

"So?"

The older man stiffened. "That's Jack. Somethin's –"

"Cartwright!" a man declared.

Joe turned toward the sound. So did Charles. The older man let go of him and took a step forward.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

It was all Joe could do to stand under his own power. He blinked back the blackness that threatened to take him and tried to focus on Charles. The brown-haired man fell back a step as another man – a thin blond man with a narrow face and cold calculating blue eyes – approached.

He had a gun in his hand.

"Don't pretend you don't know me, Cartwright," he said. "You sent me to Hell and I'm here to return the favor."

Joe saw Charles falter. He glanced back at him and then turned to face the man with the gun. "Wait. You don't think – "

Like a snake the man's arm shot out, the side of the pistol taking Charles in the head and driving him to the ground.

"And as for you, Ingalls..." The blond man smiled. "Nighty night."

Joe heard the sound a second too late. There was another man behind him. He realized it only as the butt of a rifle struck him in the back of the head.

And then there was silence.