It took three days for Adam's fever to break and then another for him to finally become aware of what was going on around him.
Ordering Hoss and Joe to sleep in the other rented room, Ben was firm in his instruction that he be the only one to tend to Adam's wounds, change the thin nightshirt he wore or bedclothes when the inevitable happened and demanded such a thing be done. Captive to fever, slipping in and out of consciousness, Adam could hardly be expected to keep control over his bodily functions. The order was more easily accepted by his youngest son than by his middle one. Joe had looked slightly relieved, but Hoss had appeared mildly offended. Adam and Hoss held next to no secrets from one another, surely Adam wouldn't have minded if Hoss assisted their father with taking care of him. It was Ben who minded—and Adam, he was certain, would have minded too had he been in the right frame of mind to speak for himself.
Harboring guilt for the way he had fallen asleep, abandoning both Hoss and Adam when the doctor had returned, Ben was desperate to safeguard all his sons against any undesirable situations. He was their father, after all. If anyone should have been looking after Adam in such intimate ways, then it should be him.
The sound of hammering outside, the unbearable noise of metal being pounded into wood as the sheriff and his deputy continued erecting the gallows for Obadiah Johnson's impending death, wore on Ben's nerves. The days that passed before his son woke up felt as though they were some of the longest of his life, which was shocking in comparison to some of the others he had managed to live through. He had lost three wives and endured too many difficulties to count, but this was somehow worse than any of that.
Adam slept fitfully at first, his slumber frequently and violently interrupted by nightmares, waking suddenly only to remain captive to a confusion so fervent that he refused to be calmed. Ben had been left with no other choice but to utilize the sleeping powder the doctor had left.
Imprisoned by deep, drug induced sleep, Adam remained unconscious and quiet. Ben couldn't help feeling as though seeing his son drugged into extended peaceful sleep was somehow worse than being forced to watch him cry. It was worse than having his own recurring bad dreams, worse than having Adam lost in the desert for two weeks, worse than finding him on foot, dragging a dead man while completely captive to the disorientation of his own mind. It was worse than knowing the dead man's name, worse than seeing the swollen lacerations on the man's neck and immediately thinking he had been strangled, and it was worse than having the Eastgate Sheriff confirm his suspicions and fears.
"The dead man's name is Peter Kane," the sheriff had volunteered in an even tone. "Appears to me like he was strangled first, then maybe he succumbed to the injury while your boy was dragging him around the desert." He shrugged in an indifferent manner. "I won't be pressing any charges against your son. Kane was a devil of a man, consider yourself fortunate if you never crossed his path. If your son really did kill him then he probably deserved it."
Later the doctor confirmed what the sheriff believed. Kane had been strangled but the injury hadn't killed him; he had succumbed to the elements. This was something that Ben longed to tell Adam if he could just figure out how. There were so many things he wanted to ask his son if only his questions could be understood and properly answered, because his conversations with both the doctor and the sheriff had left him wondering how much more the people in the town Eastgate knew about the supposed evils of Peter Kane and how much Adam now knew himself. It was an unsettling prospect, as a father, to have not one but two respected pillars of the small community allude to Kane's abhorrent nature; their implications coupled with Adam's bedlam behavior awoke a trepidation so fervent Ben was certain it would never be calmed.
What had happened in the desert? How had Adam come to be in Kane's company? And what had that man done to his son?
These were questions that seemed destined to remain without answers.
Waking on the fourth day, his eyes no longer glazed with fever or clouded with confusion, rather something else, Adam denied recalling anything that happened after being robbed. He didn't remember walking the desert, being found by his family, or anything about a man named Peter Kane.
Watching his son closely, noting the weakness of Adam's voice and how he wasn't keen on looking him in the eye, Ben suspected his son was lying. This was a suspicion he quickly silenced, immediately deciding if Adam was lying then it was something he would allow— at least for now— as the doctor had advised not to push for the truth. It was advice he torturously second-guessed, considered, and reconsidered, over and over again.
No good ever came from avoiding truth, no matter how traumatic or painful. There would come a time when it would need to be owned up to and dealt with, though the correct timing of such a thing remained to be foreseen. Adam had only just woken up, he had only just stopped yelling and crying, Ben was not eager to bring up topics that might encourage the alarming behaviors to resurface. That wasn't to say that Adam was acting normal. Still visibly exhausted and wounded, he was remarkably passive and agonizingly quiet. Too quiet for Ben to feel at ease.
Encouraging Adam to drink more water, Ben held the glass to his son's lips and tilted it back. He was only slightly disappointed when the helpful action was allowed. He had expected Adam to reassert his independence, making a loosely veiled sarcastic comment about having been capable of holding a drinking glass on his own for years. Adam accepted his assistance without comment.
"Was Hoss here or did I dream that part?" Adam asked. His voice was ragged and hoarse, left raspy and coarse by his extended sobs and screams. Avoiding looking at his father, he set tired eyes upon the room.
"Both of you brothers are here," Ben assured.
"A different room?" Adam slowly reasoned. "This room's big enough for all of us, isn't it?"
"It is, but you need quiet surroundings, and you know how loud and rambunctious that youngest brother of yours can be."
"Hoss too, on occasion."
Pleased by the mild joke, Ben smiled.
"Pa?" Adam asked. His hands moved idly, clenching, and unclenching handfuls of the thin blanket which covered him. It was an odd action, trepidatious and compulsive; Ben noted it immediately.
"Yes," he said.
"When are we going home?"
It was a startling question from a man who had taken so much pleasure spending as much of the spring, summer and fall away from the ranch as he could. Ben felt his worry build, then he forced himself to dismiss the feeling and the oddness of his son's question. He had been hurt, of course Adam would be eager to return to the safety and familiarity of home.
"Oh, another few days or so," Ben said. "You've only just begun to feel better. I am not eager to see you on the back of your horse in the midday heat."
Brows knitting, Adam's face contorted sadly. "Pa?" he asked again.
"Yes."
"Sport's gone."
"No, he isn't," Ben assured. "Joe found him. He's being cared for by your brothers alongside the rest of our horses."
Adam was momentarily visibly relieved, then his expression became nervous once more. "Pa?" he asked for a third time, his tight fists clenching handfuls of the blanket.
"Yes, son."
"The money for the cattle is gone. Those men, they took it from me when they took Sport."
"I know. It's alright."
"How can it be? Five thousand dollars is a lot of money to lose."
"I don't care about the money. I'm grateful I didn't lose you."
The conflict of Adam's expression made it clear he didn't agree with his father's acceptance or gratitude. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"You have nothing to be sorry for."
Adam didn't respond to his father's palliative statement. Turning away from Ben, he rolled on to his side and closed his eyes, his hands still clenching the blanket. It wasn't long before his feigned dozing became a reality.
Xx
They remained in Eastgate for nearly a week before Ben deemed Adam healthy enough for the trip home. It was an excessive requirement—Ben was aware of that. Adam could have survived the ride the day he woke up without a fever. But Ben didn't want Adam to merely survive, he wanted him to heal. He wanted all his sons to heal—something he was beginning to realize was being hindered a little more each day they remained in the small town of Eastgate.
The time he had allotted for Adam's body to mend hadn't served any of his sons well. Struggling with his own guilt and regret, Hoss had slowly become nearly as protective of Adam as Ben was. He spent more time at Adam's side than he did away from him, watching his older brother and waiting to provide even the slightest of assistance.
Little Joe, however, seemed determined to spend as much time as he could as far away from Adam as he could get. Much to Ben's aggravation, he had taken to warming a barstool with his behind in the saloon. Ben had tried to put an end to it early on, his fierce instruction was quickly ignored, surpassed by Joe's inability to tolerate their current reality. It was behavior that had been allowed to continue for the sole reason that Ben couldn't be in two places at the same time. Hoss did his best to collect his little brother when he strayed to the saloon but, with so much attention focused on Adam, it was difficult to always do.
And then there was Adam.
Quiet, stoic, equanimous Adam. Except he was no longer any of these things—at least not at the moment. He was still quiet, uninclined to say much of anything. His tears had finally settled but his eyes had remained haunted, his body language heart-wrenchingly uncertain of everything around him. He didn't cope with strangers well—another reason for Hoss's extended attendance at his bedside.
Hoss had a way with Adam, he always had; he didn't have to say anything, his lingering presence was enough for Adam to appear ataractic, comforted by having his younger—and physically larger—brother serve as his bodyguard. They didn't talk, not that Adam seemed up to such a thing. Ben was reminded of how the two men had been as young boys, abiding tumultuous times by taking comfort in each other's steadfast companionship. Ben kept hoping Joe would join them, take up residence on the other side of Adam's bed, and allow his guilt and pain to be eased by the comfort of proximity rather than alcohol.
It wasn't to be, and besides, the setting in the boarding house wasn't nearly as idyllic as Ben would have liked to believe it was.
Even with Hoss, Adam couldn't seem to contend with his apprehension where strangers were concerned. The doctor's initial visit had been the first testimony of Adam's excessive discomfort; the doctor's second and third visits had begun to suggest that the bothersome behavior was a change in disposition.
Adam's suspicion was palpable; he didn't trust anyone he didn't recognize, and he certainly didn't want them examining his body or behavior, giving him advice, or following their instruction—even if the doctor was a qualified man acting in his ultimate best interest. Enforcing the doctor's orders had fallen to Ben, not that that was a problem, because the only thing that rivaled Adam's distrust of strangers was his trust in and obedience of his father's instructions. Though, much to Ben's slight annoyance and relief, there was a limit to his requests too. He had yet to succeed in coaxing Adam out of the boarding room. Although Ben had to admit that his son's hesitance may have been due to a different complication rather than any actual apprehension.
Except for his boots, the clothes Adam had been wearing when he was found were too dirty and disfigured to be salvaged. Torn and stained with his brother's blood, Hoss hadn't wanted to salvage them; he had ensured they were destroyed instead.
Leaving his eldest in the company of Hoss, Ben set about getting Adam some proper clothes. His walk to the Eastgate General Store took him toward the gallows and led him to cross the sheriff's path.
"How's your boy?" the sheriff asked as he smoothed his palm over one of the supportive beams of the gallows.
"Doing well," Ben said.
"Glad to hear it. I suppose the four of you'll be heading home soon."
"We're planning to leave in the morning."
"Good deal." The sheriff looked between the gallows and Ben. "Hanging's tonight," he said. "We're finally gonna put old Obadiah out of his misery." He tilted his head. "Man, I tell you I do not understand some people. Obadiah up and kills his business partner and his wife, I'm sure I don't have to explain to you the kinds of suspicions that would lead a man to do that kind of thing."
Shaking his head, Ben didn't need further explanation in order to conceive of the most likely scenario which had led to Johnson killing the pair.
"Anyway," the sheriff continued, "the circuit judge came through; we had the trial and Obadiah ended up lucky. That judge took pity on him and gave him five years."
Ben frowned. "Then why are you hanging him?"
"You know, I've been thinkin' the same thing," the sheriff mused. "It didn't have to be this way. Obadiah had a second chance to do right, but he decided to do wrong instead. We were holding him in the cell, waiting for the prison men to come collect him, and old Obadiah decided he needed to kill someone else. I had two deputies and now I have one; the only thing Obadiah had to say for himself was that the judge got it wrong during his trial. He said he was a guilty man before he killed my deputy; he said couldn't live knowing what he'd done to his friend and his wife." He shook his head sadly. "A guilty conscience can sure make a man do asinine things."
Ben's lips formed a disapproving line.
"Glad to hear your boy's doing better," the sheriff continued. "Best thing you can do for him is get him home and put him back to work. It doesn't seem like a man has as many things to torture himself about when he's busy."
"Why would my son be tortured?"
The sheriff shook his head, his indifferent expression unchanging. "Mister Cartwright, if you think your boy is the first one who ever stumbled out of that wilderness with a crazy look in his eye and hatred for a man called Peter Kane, then you'd be dead wrong. He ain't the first. He's just the first one who decided to hold Kane accountable in a permanent way."
"I thought that was what the law was for. I thought the doctor said my son didn't kill Kane."
"I'm glad to see him finally dead either way. Devil of man that Kane. You know what they say about the devil, don't you? He only takes pleasure in pain."
Ben didn't like the implications of the sheriff's words. What he was supposing about Adam or suggesting about Kane. "My son didn't kill that man," he said firmly.
"Doesn't matter either way, and either way I'm glad Kane's dead. I wouldn't let it worry you too much. Like I told you before, in the eyes of the law your son didn't do anything wrong. He's an innocent man, caught in the crossfire of a man whose evil knew no bounds."
"Why didn't you do anything?" Ben accused.
"'Bout what?"
"If you knew Kane was trouble, if you knew he hurt others and that he had a history of wrongdoing, then why on earth didn't you stop him before? What about your responsibility as the sheriff of this town?"
"Well, the thing about that is, Kane was awful good at setting people up, worming his words into their minds and somehow getting them to do things they swore they'd never do. He never did anything wrong outright; he just set others up to. That's what made him dangerous. He was a damn devil of a man, sitting on peoples' shoulders and whispering things to them the way that he did. But as far as I know, talk ain't illegal. I could never arrest Kane because there was nothin' to really convict him of. There are just some types of men that are so crafty with their evildoing that they become ungovernable by law. You have to let them find their own demise."
"And that's what you think finally happened with my son?" Ben seethed. "You think Adam became Kane's demise."
"Like I said, the man was dangerous. I'm glad he's finally dead. Your son did what he had to do to protect himself. I did what I had to do to protect the people of this town. I banished Kane to the desert like the original Cain. You can't always punish evil, sometimes you just got to wait for it to find its own end."
Though it was more information than he thought he would ever glean about the man named Peter Kane, it was an explanation that didn't sit well with Ben. The sheriff may have protected his townsfolk, but he had failed to protect or warn the people who came upon Kane outside of it.
And this new knowledge coupled with the lack of details surrounding Adam's time with Kane weighed on Ben's heart and mind for the remainder of the afternoon.
Xx
That evening Obadiah Johnson was hanged in front of the crowd of townsfolk who had congregated to watch.
In the boarding house room that Joe and Hoss shared, Ben watched his two youngest sons play cards and wondered about people who viewed death as a form of entertainment. It was a train of thought that was welcome at this point, serving as a momentary respite from what had been a taxing day. His nerves frayed by his conversation with the sheriff, Ben had returned to the boarding house with clothes for Adam only to discover his eldest son sleeping and his youngest absent once again.
Traveling swiftly to the saloon, Ben had unleashed his fury upon his youngest son, the sheer power of which had shocked them both. He hadn't yelled or made a scene, but his voice, low and dangerous, and his hand clenching Joe's arm as he pulled him out of his chair, where both clear warnings of what was to come if Joe didn't finally adhere to his instruction. Wisely, Joe complied and allowed his father to shepherd him back to the boarding house.
Upon retrieving his wayward youngest child, Ben had summoned Hoss from Adam's room, then deemed a few extra minutes of careful observation necessary in order to ensure Joe remained in place. He refused to tolerate his son drinking away their last night in the town; it wouldn't make for a pleasurable or productive morning. He was already anticipating Adam having some difficulty on the trail; he refused to allow his youngest child to engage in behavior that promised a morning—and day—full of self-imposed difficulty.
When Ben finally heard the floor of the gallows drop, he decided it was time to return to Adam.
Entrusting Hoss to keep track of Joe, he finally left his two younger sons to their own devices.
Opening the door to the room he shared with Adam, Ben set his eyes on an unsettling scene. No longer sleeping, Adam had gotten out of bed. Standing on shaking knees, he knelt before the window, each side of the curtains clutched in-between tight fists. Though he couldn't see his son's face from behind, Ben could hear Adam's breaths, thick, ragged, and panicked. Approaching him quickly, he cursed himself for daring to leave Adam alone. Of course, he was going to wake up. With all the ruckus in the thoroughfare, how could he not?
"Adam?" Placing his hands over his son's, he struggled to dislodge Adam's grip on the curtains.
Adam held strong, his knuckles slowly turning white.
"Adam," Ben said again, his voice a little firmer. "Come on, son. Let go. There's isn't anything outside that you haven't seen before or need to see again."
"That's going to be me out there," Adam whispered breathlessly as he watched Johnson's lifeless body sway back and forth.
"What?"
Hands falling to his sides, Ben was taken aback.
Devil of man that Kane, the sheriff's words echoed tortuously in Ben's ears. If your son really did kill him, then he probably deserved it.
"That's going to be me," Adam repeated. "Oh, God, Pa!" Letting go of the curtains, he sank to the floor, his body trembling as he began to weep. It was a different kind of crying than what he had done since being found. Born less from confusion and panic and more from heart-wrenching sadness. It was nearly hysterical, nonetheless. "I-it's gonna b-be me."
There it finally was, Ben thought, the reason for Adam's irregular behavior and savage nightmares.
Could it really be that simple? Could this really be the sole reason for Adam's anguish and distress? No. Because with Adam nothing was that easy. The pain he allowed others to perceive was usually just the smallest glimpse of something of mammoth proportions.
"That's not true," Ben countered, his voice softening as he knelt and pulled his son into his arms. "It could never be true."
"You don't know what happened out there, Pa. The things I let him do, or the things he e-expects from me now." Pressing the side of his head on Ben's shoulder, Adam clung to his father. "You don't know… You don't know... You don't know... You don't know!"
Adam's cries were frenzied and desperate; Ben hesitated in properly broaching the topic of the things Adam thought he didn't know about while his son was so upset. It was better to wait. Let Adam cry himself out and then have a calm, reasonable conversation later.
Kane was awful good at setting people up, worming his words into their minds and somehow getting them to do things they swore they'd never do, the sheriff's words circled Ben's mind, leaving him agonizing over all the possible things Kane could have implored Adam to do.
"Adam, do you want to tell me what happened?"
The gentle question left Ben's mouth despite his intentions otherwise. He was so eager to soothe his son's internal torment—and his own—that he briefly dismissed the doctor's foolhardy advice.
"You can tell me anything," Ben said gently as Adam continued to sob. "You know that. I'm certain whatever happened isn't worth all this. Obadiah Johnson was a murder, son. You're not. I have known and loved you since before you were born. I know who you are, what you're made of and capable of, so you believe me when I tell you that there is nothing you could possibly do that would warrant being hung."
Adam's only response was to sob harder. And so, Ben held him close. In the moment, there was little else he could do. Still, he was silently haunted by the allegations about Kane by both the doctor and the sheriff and his son's own self-condemning pronouncement.
Your son did what he had to do to protect himself, the memory of the sheriff's words whispered. Doesn't matter either way, and either way I'm glad Kane's dead.
"You didn't kill that man, Adam," Ben said, hoping the knowledge would soothe some pain. The Sheriff's placid suspicions be damned; his son was no murderer, regardless of circumstance. "I don't know what happened out there between you and him, but I do know that he died, and I know you didn't kill him."
Adam made no indication that the words had been heard or believed. Eventually, when his violent sobs ebbed into sniffles and sporadically hitched breaths, he allowed his father to help him off the floor and tuck him back into bed.
Coaxing him into drinking another glass of water mixed with sleeping power, Ben remained at Adam's bedside, carefully watching over him while what was left of his difficult emotions were soothed away by the tranquilizing liquid.
"Can you hold on to me, Pa?" Adam asked, his eyelids drooping, his words slightly slurred. The effects of powder were starting to overtake him, leaving him calm and close to falling asleep.
The question made Ben uneasy; it was a little too similar to the question Adam asked him in his dreams.
"Of course," he said.
Extending his hand, he rested his open palm on Adam's chest. It was the same thing he had always done when such a request was made by his eldest son, when his hand, weighted and strong, was required to root Adam in place and appease arduous sentiments. It was a predictable response to a request for physical contact that wasn't made often. Adam wasn't Joe; he didn't seek physical reassurance when he was upset or ill, except for exceptionally dire situations—situations such as this. He was unsurprised when Adam covered his hand with his own and held tight. Adam's grip was weaker than it should have been, combined aftereffects of the medicine and his lingering exhaustion, no doubt.
"That's not what I meant," Adam whispered. "But I'll take it just the same."
"What did you mean?"
"Can you hold on to me?" Adam asked tiredly as though repeating the question would suddenly allow it to make more sense than it did.
"Son, I already am."
Adam's frown was a clear indication that his request still hadn't been understood. Too drowsy to repeat or explain it, his eyes closed and his grip on Ben's hand relaxed as he gave into the pull of unconsciousness.
