The Beauty of Darkness
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I actually think sadness and darkness can be very beautiful and healing. Duncan Sheik
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ONE
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"Hey, Hoss, have you seen Adam?"
Joe Cartwright turned a corner, expecting to find his middle brother working in the barn, but the barn was empty. He'd asked their pa, and Pa said he sent Hoss out to check on one of the horses that had injured its leg the night before. It was a big black beauty, twin brother to Concho, the skittish horse that had been spooked by a prison guard named Travis almost a year back and thrown him. Joe shook his head as he moved forward. It was likely he would have been severely injured – or maybe even killed – if not for the intervention of oneof the convicts Travis was guardingnamed Danny Kidd. They'd given this horse the unlikely name of Silver since the pair weretwins – after a silver Concho. The curly-haired man could see the horse now. Silver was in one of the back stalls tossing his head and snorting, like standing still was something he wouldn't tolerate for long. Crossing over, Joe leaned on the stall wall and gazed at the strong, well-muscled animal. He loved Cochise, but there was something special about a horse black as midnight. He'd thought about keeping Concho for himself before giving him to Danny as a gift for his hard work in saving the animal when it foundered. A horse with a pure black coat was a magical thing – like riding it could take you to another place.
Joe shifted forward and cautiously reached out to the animal, speaking in soothing tones as he did. Silver's response was to blow air through his nostrils, fix him with his coal black eyes, and offer an unspoken challenge.
"You got it, boy," Joe said softly as he moved into the stall. "When you're mended, you and I will see just how fast you can fly."
'You're playin' with fire there, Joe," a familiar voice remarked from close by. Joe turned to find Danny Kidd had entered the barn. The ex-con hesitated by the door with his gear tossed over the shoulder of his deep blue shirt. "Concho's brother ain't no more domesticated than he is."
Joe patted the animal's neck. "Concho wouldn't have thrown me if that guard hadn't taken a shot at you for back-talking him," he replied, his tone was sober. As he turned toward his friend, his lips broke into a wry smile. "So I guess it's all your fault I took that ride."
Danny dropped the equipment to the ground and came to join him. "That was before I knew how hard your head was," he said as he leaned on one of the wooden rails. "If I'd of knowed, I would have just let him drag you all the way home."
Danny had, of course, found out how hard his skull was when the ex-con cracked him over it with a branch and knocked him out cold. Danny Kidd had known a hard life. He'd lost his parents at the age of five – the same age he'd been when his mother died – and been in prison by thirteen. After his ma and pa died, Danny was sent to the poorhouse where he was harshly treated. When they'd first met Danny, the then convict had explained how he attacked another child in the institution because the boy stole his slice of apple pie.
It was something Joe couldn't imagine; that kind of hunger or that kind of rage. Maybe that was why he'd formed an instant soft spot for the other man.
Danny was twenty-three when they met and he'd never met anyone like him before. When he'd asked how he could repay him, the chained and bound man lifted his shackled wrists and said – in so many words – 'Set me free'. He promised he would. Joe knew Danny didn't believe him, but he'd gone to his pa, and his pa had gone to the governor, and the governor had granted Danny a pardon on two conditions: Number one, he had to stay out of trouble for a year. Number two...
Danny became his responsibility.
It hadn't been easy in the beginning. There'd been lots of missteps and misunderstandings, like the one with Bob Stevens who was jealous of the attention Ann Carter was paying the former convict at their house party. Bob told Ann's father all about Danny. The older man had been hopping mad that they'd let an ex-convict dance with his daughter and promptly left. Ann, of course, being Ann made a beeline straight back to the ranch to talk to Danny. Joe touched his head. He could almost feel the goose egg the wrist-thick branch had left when Danny cold-cocked him. Ann had flirted mercilessly with Danny and, when passions were aroused, pulled away leaving her blouse torn. Frightened of her father's reaction, she'd blamed Danny. Like a complete idiot – like everyone else – he'd instantly jumped to the wrong conclusion, that Danny had been at fault. He threatened to return him to prison. That was when his friend rightly let him have it. When he woke up an hour later, with his pa and brothers surrounding him, Pa told him the truth about Ann and what had happened.
He'd been so ashamed.
In the end Danny made his own choice to remain at the ranch. It had been almost ten months now and there'd been no more trouble. Then again, Danny wasn't taking any chances. He'd chosen to remain apart – to become a loner – and didn't socialize much. His friend still had difficulty fitting in with the other men. There had been a few brawls in the space of those many months. One that had ended pretty badly. Still, Danny was trying to overcome the dark past that haunted him and move on.
Joe patted Silver's neck again and sighed. Just likehe and his family were doing.
Danny must have sensed something. "How are you, Joe?"
It was a question he avoided answering as often as it came up. "You know me," the curly-haired man said with a cock-eyed smile, "I always come up kicking."
Danny had returned a little over a week before from a two month cattle drive to Texas. They'd seen each other in passing since then, but this was the first time they'd been alone. Patting the horse's nose one last time, Joe turned from it and headed for the barn door. Danny's next words stopped him.
"I'm sorry I was away when...it happened."
It.
Laura's death.
How could such a profound thing be summed up with one word?
It.
Joe closed his eyes and puffed out a breath. It was hard to explain what thinking about Laura did to him. There were times now when it was almost like it never happened – like he hadn't planned a whole life with a beautiful woman that would never be. He could still see his brothers helping him fix up the cabin on the hill – the one he'd planned to take his bride to. They'd all been so excited, working together side by side to make it happen. So much had transpired in the last half year. Hoss losing Margie Owens. Laura's illness and…death. Their Pa's guilt over the killing of Jimmy Partridge and his not being able to stop it. And Adam...good God!
Adam and Peter Kane.
It was like they were cursed or something.
"Joe? Is there anything I can do to help?"
Joe sniffed and forced a smile as he turned back, "You can help me find my big brothers. Pa's been looking for Adam. He thought Hoss might know where he is." He snorted. "Trouble is, Hoss is missing too."
Danny accepted his reticence to talk about Laura as only a friend could – without a word and without offense. The other man crossed to where he had dropped the equipment near the door. As he picked it up, he said, "I can't tell you where Adam is, but I can tell you what direction he was headed. I saw him ride out about an hour ago."
Joe frowned. They were supposed to go to town in a few hours – all of them, together. "Did older brother say where was he going?"
"I didn't talk to him." Danny hesitated before adding quietly, "He didn't look like he wanted to be talked to."
Joe's scowl deepened. It had been two weeks since Adam's trial in the desert, and while big brother had been more introspective than normal of late – if that was possible – it appeared he had weathered the ordeal pretty well. Joe gnawed his lower lip. The ride home had seemed endless. Adam was a dead weight on the stretcher he'd fashioned for Peter Kane, but that wasn't what slowed them down. It was their own guilt.
They'd given up.
Pa felt that worst of all.
Once in his own bed, older brother woke up. He was out of his head for two days. Doc Martin came out at Pa's request and took care of him for three. The Doc told them not to be worried. That kind of raving was to be expected from a man who'd been severely dehydrated, let alone one who had suffered the kind of abuse older brother had. As they stood around Adam's bed on the third night, watching him sleep peacefully, the physician told them something else: older brother would soon be right as rain.
It was a lie.
Peckish, he'd risen just after midnight and headed for the hall, intent on making his way to the kitchen and a snack. He halted when he heard hushed voices. It only took a second for Joe to realize who it was – the Doc and his pa. They were standing outside his brother's room. Doc Martin repeated what he'd said earlier, that Adam's body had been through the mill and they were going to have to be patient with him. Then he added something new. The Doc explained how Adam going without water or any sustenance for such a long time might leave him physically impaired. Older brother might not be able to think clearly and his memory could fail, which could lead to a deep melancholia in a man who prided himself on how keen his mind was. The physician warned there could be personality changes as well. Paul Martin said nothing of the nature of those changes, but – his voice falling even lower – hinted that the changes could be...well...permanent.
In other words, Adam might not be Adam anymore.
Joe drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, just like a man did when he was looking danger in the face and knew that fear and panic were about to overwhelm him.
"I'd offer you a penny for your thoughts," Danny said quietly, "but somehow I don't think I'd want to own them."
The curly-haired man started. He'd almost forgotten Danny was there.
Joe smiled his tight little smile. "Just considering what I should do. Pa expects us to be ready to head out for supper soon. Margie Owen's pa and his sister are bringing her baby to town for a visit. George asked that 'Uncles' Joe, Hoss, and Adam be there." He looked out the door. "You said you saw where Adam was headed?"
"Toward the Virginia City Road. Maybe he's got business in town and is planning to meet you at the hotel later on."
Joe stepped out of the barn. "Maybe. Still, you'd think he would have let one of us know."
"Probably slipped his mind," Danny offered as he followed.
"Yeah."
That's what happened when you had too much on your mind. Little things – like courtesy – got crowded out.
Danny stared at him a moment. "I don't know about you, Joe, but I could eat a horse right now," he said, deliberately brightening his tone. "I'm off to get some grub and then I'm for bed. I don't envy you havin' to get all duded up so you can sit pretty in some restaurant bouncin' a baby on your knee and makin' small talk with women folk." The brown-haired man snorted. "Both always make me nervous. Night, Joe."
Joe waved his goodnight before turning back to the barn and closing the door. Unexpectedly, as he dropped the bar into place, a deep sense of loss hit him. Not only of the woman he loved, but of something else – something bigger he couldn't quite put his finger on. The closest he could come was a sense of the passing of something unnamed – something of great and immense importance. It had to do with their family. In the last nine months they'd all been wounded in one way or another, and instead of turning toward each other, they'd chosen to go their own way. Like a fine bone china dish dropped in haste, the very nature of what they were was shattered. What remained were four separate pieces; pieces it seemed not one of them was willing – or able – to stoop, pick up, and put back together.
Truth be told, the spirit had gone out of the lot of them.
Joe struck away a tear.
He wondered if they would ever find it again.
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He wondered if he would ever find it again.
Whatever 'it' was.
Adam Cartwright tipped his black hat back, exposing his face to the late afternoon sun. He rarely did that anymore, preferring to remain in the shadows. Masking emotions had become his vocation of late. The man in black snorted and shook his head. It was something like Hop Sing's reaction each time a citified woman with delicate sensibilities visited the Ponderosa kitchen. The Asian man would toss a cloth over the offal and shove the cow's remains into the ice box, as if that action alone could stem the process that was already underway; the process that changed food from something life-sustaining into a poison that could kill.
He'd killed.
God! He'd killed a man with his bare hands.
Kane might not have died when his fingers were on his throat, but die he did.
What kind of monster was he?
Adam drew in a long breath and let it out slowly.
No. No.
It wasn't him. Peter Kane was the monster.
He had to remember that. Whatever he'd done, Kane had driven him to it. He'd been beaten down – broken – tormented and tortured; driven by hunger and fatigue to the point where he didn't know what he was doing.
Right.
He knew.
Adam's right eye twitched. He knew all right.
He knew a sick sort of joy as his fingers closed around Kane's throat, crushing the bastard's windpipe and choking the life out of him. In fact, he had never known such joy. It was as if, single-handedly, he'd rid the world of a blight that threatened to destroy it. At that moment, he had believed himself a savior – a 'good guy'.
Wasn't that what all villains believed?
Was he a villain?
Would he ever know?
Adam sat for a moment, contemplating all that had happened since he had ridden out of the Ponderosa that fateful morning with his kid brother at his side. Then he dismounted and lost his breakfast.
Several times.
The thing that shamed him the most was that he was angry – not at Kane, not even at himself, but at Little Joe! His foolish younger brother who had elected to remain behind to watch a trial with a pre-ordained conclusion. What a stupid, frivolous, selfish thing to do! If Joe had been with him those men wouldn't have gotten the drop on him. Or even better, if Joe had not been with him at all, they would never have known he was carrying enough money to make it worth their while to waylay him. Either way, it was his little brother's fault, as so many things were his little brother's fault, as….
God, was he so petty?
So…selfish?
Adam struck away spittle and sat back hard against a tree. He had to face the facts. If Little Joe had been with him, Kane could have used his brother against him – would have used his brother. The villain would have reveled in torturing Little Joe and parading his misery before him. He might have had to – probably would have watched his baby brother die.
Bastard was right.
Him, that was. Not Joe.
Not Kane.
Adam snorted and then actually chuckled. Was there a note of Divine irony in all of this? What were the odds that the man who tortured, who humiliated him would be named Kane? Kane, the first man who murdered – the slayer of his brother.
Adam lifted his hands. They were shaking. He was the first son, just like Cain, and like Kane, his hands had blood on them.
This time he didn't chuckle. He laughed, and the sound of it was insane.
Murderer.
Madman.
Peter Kane died in the desert. That was a fact. After all, he'd dragged Kane's rotting corpse behind him for dozens of miles. But Kane wasn't dead.
The monster was still alive.
Alive within him.
"Adam?"
It took a second for Adam to realize that the voice wasn't in his head. He'd heard so many voices in his head over the last two weeks, he'd almost lost track of how to distinguish reality from fantasy. He steeled himself before looking up at his kid brother.
"What do you want?"
Joe started and stepped back. He looked shaken.
Was the sound of his voice so harsh?
"Are you…okay?" the kid asked.
He supposed another burst of insane laughter would be a poor reply.
Adam drew in a breath and put on his mask as he rose to his feet. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"
Joe's gaze went to his breakfast where it lay spewed on the ground, and then back to him. "No reason. Pa sent me to look for you. He's ready to head into town. We thought…."
"Yes?"
"Danny told me…."
Danny?
Ah, yes, Danny.
He and the ex-con had more in common than his little brother could guess. Danny had killed a boy over a slice of pie, while he'd killed a man….
Why?
To prove a point?
"Danny said you were on your way to Virginia City. He thought…." Joe cleared his throat. "Were you headed into town?"
To be honest, he'd had no idea where he was headed when he rode out of the yard.
Away?
Yes, away.
Away from Pa and his questions. Away from his brothers and their sympathetic eyes. Away from….
Himself.
"Are you coming?" Joe asked.
"Coming?"
"To dinner with Margie's pa and aunt. Adam, I know…." His little brother paused. Joe's face screwed up like it did when he was going to laugh.
Only he didn't.
Laugh, that was.
"I know you're hurting, Adam. Can I help?"
Could he?
Could anyone?
Adam hesitated before speaking. "Joe, can you do something for me?"
"Sure. Anything."
"Can you…. Will you make my apologies for me?"
"You're not coming?"
"I…can't." The man in black cleared his throat. "I…can't make small talk and coo over a baby. I can't…look at Hoss and forget all he's lost. All…we've all lost." Adam ran a shaky, sweaty hand over his face, feeling the stubble and realizing with a start that he'd forgotten to shave. "I…."
Joe approached and placed a hand on his shoulder. It should have felt good. It should have felt like…support.
Why did it feel like condemnation?
"Adam?"
The man in black looked up and into his brother's rich green eyes. He saw sympathy there, and fear. There was a question as well. One that didn't need to be voiced.
Was he….
Could he be….?
Lost?
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Lost.
So much had been lost.
Hoss stopped what he was doing. He held the brush suspended above Chubb's black coat and let out a long sigh.
"Margie…. Damn!"
He didn't mean to say it. He'd managed to keep her name off his lips and on the tip of his tongue this last month or so. In fact, he hadn't said Margie's name out loud since he'd come home several months back, empty-armed and dreamin' of what might have been. The saddest sight he'd ever see'd was Margie lyin' there in that hospital bed in San Francisco. She'd looked like she didn't have a friend in the world. That was wrong and he knew it. Margie knew it too, but somehow she'd forgot. She'd forgot him and her pa, and somehow gone and convinced herself that no one would care at all if she just upped and went away.
Hoss put the brush down so he could wipe away a tear.
He cared. He cared a lot.
There was a place in his heart that was empty and would never be full again on account of Margie wasn't there to fill it.
Margie was dead.
He had to face facts. She weren't never gonna be there to fill it.
And he weren't never ever gonna forgive God for that.
She loved him. He knew it. He'd loved her too and they would have been happy if that there con man hadn't never come along. Pa'd taught them from the time they was tykes that there weren't nothin' the Man upstairs wasn't aware of, so that meant God let it happen. That meant the Almighty knew all about Mark Connors and He done let that villain come into their lives and woo Margie away with his sweet talk and his false promises of seein' the whole wide world with all its wonders.
The big man's fingers formed into fists. Why?
WHY?
If he could of boxed God's ears, he would have done it with no regrets!
Their Pa'd taught them since they was little'uns that God's ways was the best ways. How could that be? How could Margie dyin' in such a state be for the good? Hoss shook his head. No.
No.
God made a mistake. That's all there was to it. He must not have been watchin', else He wouldn't have let that bad man win her over with his honeyed words and ways. Margie, well, she'd been the prettiest, the sweetest thing – the best thing he'd ever know'd. What that man made her into…what she'd been forced do to those last few months just so's she could survive…. It just wasn't right. Hoss looked at his fist and then rammed it into the stall wall. God abandoned her and let her die.
Just like God had abandoned him.
He loved Margie. She should have been his. He should have saved her. God should have saved her….
But He didn't.
Hoss stared at the blood dripping from his fingers. Chubb shied at the smell.
"Sorry, boy," the big man said as he went back to brushing. "I didn't meant it."
But he did.
He wanted to hurt someone.
He wanted someone to pay.
He just didn't know who.
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Ben Cartwright stepped onto the porch of his Ponderosa. He turned from side to side. The yard was empty.
It was a reflection of his life.
Something had changed in the last month or so. Something had been lost – something significant, if not imperative. Each of his sons had been dealt a blow from which they might never recover. Adam, his eldest, had walked through Hell; driven to the brink by a madman who challenged everything he believed in. Hoss – not his youngest, but his most innocent child – had shattered in the face of man's depravity. And Joseph? Dear sweet, hot-headed, intense and introspective Joseph – who had been on top of the world – had plummeted to the depths when the beautiful young woman he had given his heart to succumbed to an incurable illness.
The rancher sighed as he stepped off of the porch. And him? What of him? What of a father who stood by while the son of another father was killed? He was fine. As an older and wiser man, he was immune to such introspection and melancholy.
He was also a liar.
Ben's gaze went to the barn and then moved on to the corral where he imagined one of his boys on the back of a bucking bronco. He looked at the wood pile and saw Joseph chopping wood; the sweat making his chestnut curls spiral and trail before his eyes. He saw Adam sitting on the porch strumming his guitar. Hoss smiling at a new foal. Or, that's what he should have seen. Instead – each and every time he looked at one of his boys – he didn't see them. What he saw instead was Jimmy Partridge laying on the floor; his life-blood pouring out. He hadn't meant to let it happen. The choice had been out of his hands. Still, Jimmy was dead and his father, left a broken man. How would he have reacted if things had been the other way round? What if Lem had stood by while some outlaw killed one of his sons?
Could he have forgiven?
Would he have forgiven?
Had Lem truly forgiven him?
Could he forgive himself?
Ben ran a hand over his chin and frowned. His face was stubbly with distraction. He couldn't remember the last time he'd shaved. He had a vague memory of Hop Sing chiding him for breaking his routine as he came down the stairs that morning, and a slightly stronger sense of the Asian man voicing his frustration when he dismissed his concern. No. Things were far from routine. His life – his family – was a shambles. That indefinable 'thing' that held them together – what made them 'the' Cartwrights – was lost and Ben despaired of every getting it back. The rancher leaned a hand on the hitching rail and looked out toward the horizon. The last time he'd felt this lost was after Joseph's mother died. Everything came down to 'before' Marie and 'after' Marie. Life became a dream, or more precisely, a nightmare.
One from which he feared he might never wake.
The Ponderosa had been assailed before. They'd weathered brigands and thieves, deserters and desperados. Arrows had pierced the door and bullets shattered the window glass. Through it all, it had been the four of them – Pa, Adam, Hoss, and Little Joe. Together they could withstand anything. Together, they were everything.
Without each other they were nothing.
Ben looked again at the barn, noting its darkened interior. His gaze returned to the deserted corral. The yard was empty as well, as were the fields beyond it.
Empty.
Empty as their lives.
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To be continued…..