EPILOGUE
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Adam Cartwright was numb. He sat beside the fire holding his baby brother, speaking soft words and rocking Little Joe while he sobbed inconsolably. Hoss wasn't much better. The ten-year-old was seated on the settee across from them. He had his head in his hands and was quietly weeping. Mrs. Guthrie was in the kitchen putting together a poultice to put on Joe's wound to take some of the fire out of it. Before she left the great room she had come to him and placed a hand on his shoulder and waited until he looked up. Then she'd handed him a glass of whiskey.
'Drink it down, Adam. Think of it as medicine,' the older woman said, looking at him with sympathy.
Adam closed his eyes and sighed. He still couldn't wrap his mind around what had happened. He'd approached the house expecting to find the lights out and everyone asleep. After all, it was nearly three in the morning. Instead the house had been brightly lit and a pair of strange horses were tethered outside.
The teen knew then his gut instinct to return had been right.
Dismounting, he left his horse near the barn and approached the house on foot. After making his way to the porch, he'd paused, listening. Hearing nothing, he'd decided to enter and had thrust the door open and stepped in with his weapon drawn.
Absurdly, the first thing he 'd seen was a tall, lean stranger with blond hair whose mouth was covered in chocolate icing.
The second was Hoss pointing their father's gun at Little Joe.
He'd barely had time to demand, jaw tight, 'What the Hell is going on?' before he noticed a second man – one with eyes like a snake – standing by the hearth. He had Marie's jewelry box in his hands. As he watched the box fell and the man went for his gun.
Two shots split the night. The sound of both reverberated off the hearth stones and filled the room where he and his father and brothers normally sat reading, writing, talking, and playing games – just living their lives. The one he fired took the outlaw in the chest. The man's mouth gaped open in surprise and he fell to the floor stone dead. The blond man with the mouth full of cake stood there a moment and then turned tail and ran.
It took a sob to break into the unnatural calm that descended on the room after that. At first he thought it was Little Joe. It wasn't.
It was Hoss.
Little Joe looked like a broken rag doll. He was lying on the floor and there was a red stain slowly spreading across his forehead.
Adam shifted in his chair, unnerved by the possibilities, and pulled his little brother closer. After spotting Joe, his gaze had gone to the gun beside the dead outlaw and his heart had nearly stopped when he realized it wasn't smoking. Two steps took him to his brothers' side. Hoss had dropped their father's gun and picked up Little Joe. The ten-year-old sat on the floor cradling the tiny boy while tears ran down his chubby cheeks.
"I killed him, Adam! I killed Little Joe!" Hoss wailed. "I didn't mean to! I swear, I didn't know he was there! He must of got up off the floor and come lookin' for me while I was pullin' the gun out of the drawer. I didn't know he was there 'til..."
He remembered drawing a deep breath and looking down. Little Joe's eyes had been closed and he was very pale. The blood from his forehead was trailing into his curls –
And he was moving.
He'd nearly fainted.
"Hoss, Joe's not dead. Look. Hoss, look!"
His brother, though numb, had responded to his command and looked down. At that same instant Little Joe moaned and reached up toward the spot where the bullet from their father's gun had grazed him. His eyes opened and his lips parted and he spoke.
"...Pa..."
Adam leaned his head against the chair back and sighed.
Dear Lord, what could have happened!
A hand on his shoulder brought his eyes open. The teen looked up to find Mrs. Guthrie studying him. He nodded his thanks as the older woman handed him the poultice.
"Are you all right?" he asked her.
"Pshaw!" she said. "I'm fine. How is the little one?"
Alive, he thought.
Alive.
It had been while they were settling Little Joe on the settee for the first time, tucking blankets around him and speaking soft words to assure the tiny boy that everything was all right, that Hoss remembered to tell him Mrs. Guthrie was tied up in the kitchen. He hadn't want to leave his brothers alone, but he did so in order to free her. When she asked him why he'd come home, he'd explained that he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. At first he'd tried to put it off to the fact that he was uneasy leaving a woman alone with two little boys so far from town, but that didn't wash. He knew Harriet Guthrie was more than competent. No, there had been something else – something most people would have called an 'intuition'.
Pa would have called it the voice of God.
Adam glanced at the little boy now sleeping in his arms and then he looked at Hoss. Rising, he placed Little Joe back on the settee, tucked him in again, and then motioned for to the ten-year-old to follow him to the foot of the stair. Then – gently – he asked Hoss to tell him what had happened. His brother wouldn't – or couldn't. For the longest time all he could do was cry and shake his head. Finally, when Hoss did speak, it was in a choked voice and through a veil of tears. And what he said had nothing to do with what happened.
"It ain't never gonna be the same again, Adam," he said, his young heart broken, "with Little Joe and me. He ain't never gonna trust me."
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The Present
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Hoss fell silent. He stared at his hands for a long moment and then glanced up at his baby brother. Joe looked about like he had when he woke up after that rat Fenton done tried to smother him. His skin was pale and had a sheen to it. He was breathin' hard and his fingers were all twisted up with his covers.
"I don't remember any of it," Joe said, his tone flat.
"I didn't think you would, little brother. You was only a little squirt."
"That's twice."
The big man frowned. "Twice?"
"Twice I've forgotten something really important. First Eagle's Nest. Now this."
Hoss nodded. "I been thinkin' about that, Joe. It does seems 'bout like the same thing. You know, I remember me Adam talkin' about somethin' called the sub-conscious and how it remembers what we forgot."
His brother's green eyes darted to him. There was a hint of humor in them. "You mean you were listening?"
"More often than older brother gave me credit for." He sort of smiled too. "'Bout like you, I imagine."
Joe scowled. "It's...scary."
"What is?"
"Losing time. Losing...things." Joe looked him square in the eye. "Do you think I'm goin' crazy?"
"Well, if you are, you got company." The big man shifted back in his chair. "You know, Joe, I think there's just some things a man ain't meant to remember. Maybe 'cause they's too hard, or they hurt too much."
There was a desperation in his brother's voice. "That just means he's weak."
Hoss shook his head. "No, it don't, Joe. It just means he's human."
Joe's jaw grew tight. "I don't see you forgetting anything."
Hoss closed his eyes – and instantly regretted it. He could still see that little face with those wide trustin' eyes, smack-dab in the center of the sight of his Pa's Colt .45.
"I wish I could, Joe. You don't know how much I wish I could. I might've killed you." Hoss paused. "I almost did." Before Joe could protest, he went on, "But that weren't the worst thing. The worst thing was lookin' into those usually trustin' eyes of yours and seein' you was scared of me and knowin' – maybe – you'd never trust me again."
"You know I trust you."
The words were shot straight from his little brother's hip and heart. Joe believed them.
He knew better.
"No. I don't think you do. Not in that there sub-conscious of yours. Else you wouldn't have seen me holdin' that gun on you, talkin' about a 'scorcher' and smilin' when you was dyin'."
Joe stared at him for the longest time and then rested his head back on the pillows. "If I remember right, Adam said we had no control over the sub-conscious." When he said nothing, Joe turned and looked at him. "Right?"
Hoss shrugged. "What'd Adam know?"
That brought a shadow of Joe's infamous giggle. "You're just as blockheaded as he was," his brother said as he closed his eyes. For a moment Hoss thought Joe'd drifted off, but then those wide eyes that had been lookin' at him for nigh onto thirty years opened and fixed him. "You know? I do remember one thing."
The big man shifted uncomfortably. "You do, huh?"
Joe nodded. "It's kind of vague. I remember waking up in my room later that night. Pa was there, sittin' on the edge of the bed, which I thought was kind of strange. I asked him why he was and he said you told him that I needed him. He said he understood now that we all needed him and he was going to stay for good."
"He did, Joe. What happened that night done scared Pa for sure. He could of lost all three of us. After that, Pa didn't go away no more."
Joe carefully rolled over so he could look straight at him. "So, you see, brother, the only thing I remember is that you were the one responsible for Pa comin' back. I knew whatever you did that night – even though some of it seemed pretty funny to me – was so he would. My sub-conscious may have blamed you for what happened – may have even stopped trusting you – but this boy's conscious knew who his best friend was." Joe reached out and circled his wrist with his fingers. "And is," he added softly.
Hoss sniffed. "Is it okay if I get mushy?"
Joe rolled his eyes. "If you have to, you big lug."
"I love you, little brother."
Those green eyes lit, brighter than he had seen them do since Joe had been bushwhacked.
"Big brother, I love you too."