Quick Note:
This is an older story I finished years ago. It was pulled to be slightly re-worked, which is why you're seeing pop up as a new story now. If you enjoyed this story the first time around and were offended or saddened when it was removed, I am sorry. That being said, if you decide to revisit it (or if there are any new readers out there) I hope you still enjoy it.
Reviews are never expected but always appreciated.
It started with a thickness in my throat. It was a familiar feeling; the first hint of easy laughter when you think you're on the receiving end of a joke. That's what I thought all this was in the beginning: a joke. Standing in front of Ross Marquette, who happened to be my oldest friend in the world, I believed he was stringing along a couple of old wisecracks to compose a great big one. The first crack was physical; I entered his house without invitation, and he pulled his gun on me; the follow up to that one was verbal. I was staring at the barrel of his gun when he accused me of stealing his wife.
At first, I was not worried. Neither of those jokes were new; he'd posed them before, and he'd pose them again. Our rapport was like that, each of us grabbing a hold of the other one's chain just so we could see how hard we could yank the other around. Sometimes it was funny and others it was downright cruel, but we did it anyway. We were close like brothers, and we acted as such—sometimes for better and sometimes for worse. So, when I walked into his house and Ross aimed his gun at me, I assumed he was joshing, playing an old familiar game.
Staring at his gun, I was reminded, for the briefest of seconds, that this game my buddy and I had invented years ago was something even now Pa would scold us for. Guns were only to be aimed when you meant business according to Pa—or when you trusted someone enough to allow them to test how quick you could think on your feet if you were Ross and me.
Like I said, it was an old game, one which had begun shortly after Ross and I had each been deemed old enough to be entrusted with gun-belts and sidearms; it was a game that if discovered in our younger years would have eradicated the same trust which allowed us to carry such weapons.
It was Delphine who eventually made the grim reality of the serious situation clear. It was the state of her, the dark bruises marking her face and the terror in her eyes which declared Ross's words and actions, the barrel of his gun pointed at my chest, the furthest thing from a game. Her expression said everything I needed to know, even before she began to speak. She said she was sorry; she said Ross had struck her until she gave voice to what she did.
It was then I knew then the game Ross and I had played for so many years was over; we would no longer be allowed to hold up arms against each other and be trusted enough not to shoot. I felt a twinge of sadness then, the slightest hint of disappointment that I quickly ignored. Such feelings weren't conducive to changing our current predicament. They wouldn't help me help Del, Ross, or even myself.
Ross's aim did not falter as I advanced upon him. I don't remember what I said to be allowed to get close to him. Close enough to flip the table over. Close enough to knock the gun from his hand, overpower, and tie him to a chair. I left him there for a while, to think hard about what he'd done, the terrible accusations he'd let slip from his mouth. When I finally untied him, he looked and spoke to me though he did not know how he came to be where he was. It was the damnedest thing, so odd and infuriating at the same time. I did not know what to think about it; I was not sure I wanted to.
Leaving him alone, I sent Del to stay at the Ponderosa. Ross was bound to think about her being away from him and closer to me, and thinking about how such a situation had come to be was bound to make him feel worse. But maybe I wanted him to feel guilty and remorseful for what he had done and dared to say aloud. After all, we promised we would never talk about it, this secret thing that occurred, something that would not remain unsuspected for very long if he kept talking like he was. I had not wanted to do it; it was not my idea, but I had gone along with it anyway, and that is what made me a guilty party, one of three people responsible for guarding the truth.
It was only one of many secrets Ross and I had shared over the years.
He and I were best friends from the second we met. I am not sure what bonded us together so immediately and fiercely. Maybe it was because he was my first real friend outside of my brothers. Maybe it was the fact that we were the same age exactly, remnants of the odd kind of wondrous excitement that comes from the unique knowledge that someone else was born on the same day of the same month of the same year as yourself. Maybe it was the fact that we were both one of three siblings, our family structure reflecting one another in almost perfect reverse. Ross was the youngest of his brothers, his Pa the last of his Ma's three husbands all of which had left her with a son.
When we were young, Pa used to call Ross my other half, and Ross's Ma used to fondly refer to us as twins. He and I were together more often than we were apart, functioning like appendages. I loved his Ma like she was my own, and, in our tumultuous teen years, Pa came to view and treat Ross as a surrogate son, though there was a different reason for that.
Ross's Pa was killed a year to the day before we lost Marie. It was warm the day we buried her; it snowed the day Ross's father was placed in the ground. An unseasonable kind of storm blew down from the mountains that day, freezing the ground and air, making my skin tingle and burn and transforming my breath into frozen puffs before my face. I remember how terrible it all felt, standing next to Pa and Marie, trying so hard not to fidget or move for fear of having my movement—a hopeless effort to keep my blood moving and body warm—interpreted as disrespectful.
It was a cold day and it was a sad one.
Holding his ma's hand as she sobbed, Ross didn't move or cry. He stood ridged and tall throughout the service. It was the kind of display people often describe as strong or brave when presented by a boy of that age. But I knew the truth. It wasn't bravery that made Ross look the way he did. It was a shock. It was the horrible realization that his Pa was gone forever; he wasn't ever going to come home. I saw Ross's expressionless face and his glazed eyes and I still think I understood his feelings better than most.
When the last bit of dirt had been placed upon the grave, Ross took off running as fast as he could. I stood in place for a moment and then I took off after him. He tried to outrun me as we busted through the snow-covered pines. I was too fast. I remember wishing I were slower. That my legs were shorter and my strides smaller. I didn't want to pass him; I didn't want to run next to him if I wasn't welcome there. I hastened my pace, purposely remaining one or two steps behind.
Eventually, Ross stopped and stood numbly in place. He didn't turn around for a long time and when he finally did, there were tears streaming down his cheeks. It was one of the only times ever saw him cry.
"Does it ever stop hurting?" he asked. "Do you ever stop missing the people you lose?"
"Not really," I said. "You just get used to not havin' them around."
He nodded at that, feeling our understanding of one another deepen somehow. With the loss of his father, we had something in common we hadn't before. Ross had always had the love of both of his parents and now he only had the love of one.
Silently, we walked back the way we came. I followed him home that day and to school the next. As the years passed, I would follow him into trouble and then out of it, after girls and ill-thought schemes. I was that boy's shadow for years. I know him like the inside of my hat—sometimes I think I knew him better than Hoss or Joe or even myself. I knew what he was going to do before he even did it; I could predict what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth to speak. I knew his temper, his wicked sense of humor and nearly every one of his faults; I knew what he was capable of. I thought I knew everything worth knowing about Ross.
I was wrong.
Leaving Del in Hop Sing's company, I returned to Pa. He smiled when he saw me, and I felt guilty for bearing news that would chase the joy from his face.
"What's the word, Adam?" he asked. "Did Ross agree to come help with the cattle?"
"No, Pa," I said. "Ross isn't going to be helping us."
"Why not?"
Hesitating, I did not want to say the reason aloud. The details of the afternoon were beginning to weigh heavily upon me. I did not want to share them for fear of what else I might foolishly allow slip from my lips.
"Adam?" Pa prompted.
"He pulled a gun on me," I said flatly.
Pa snorted. "Isn't that part of the game the two of you play?"
"How do you know about that?"
"Son, just because I don't address something that doesn't mean I don't know it takes place." Standing next to me, he grasped the back of my neck fondly and squeezed. "You know," he added, laughter in his tone. "Sometimes I think we might just have Ross to thank for you being so quick on your feet and apt with your words."
He was in such a jovial mood. I hated to ruin it.
"Ross pulled his gun on me," I said forlornly. "It wasn't a joke or a game; it was a threat. He meant to shoot me. He beat Del, accused her of stepping out on him with someone else."
Pa's horror was made clear by the expression on his face. "Who?"
"Me."
"You?"
"He beat her until she told him what he wanted to hear. I couldn't leave her there. I took her home. I suppose she'll be staying with us for a while. I don't understand it, Pa. How could Ross do a thing like that? Those two are the happiest married people I can think of."
Pa squeezed my neck in a comforting manner. "Sometimes people just change, Adam," he said sadly. "There are no discernible reasons why."
"It's not just that. After it all happened, I talked to him; he didn't know why he hurt her, and he didn't remember pulling his gun on me or saying anything that he did."
"Do you think he could have been lying?"
"Maybe," I said, though the notion felt inherently wrong. Ross had never lied a day in his life; if anything, he often was a little too truthful. "Pa, I think I oughta go into town. Ask around, maybe talk to Doc Martin, see if he's ever heard of such a thing."
Pa shook his head. "I can't spare you. You've done all you can do for now. Let time sort the rest out."
"But—"
"But nothing. I need you here. I even needed Ross here. Give it some time, son. There's nothing more you can do that hasn't already been done. Del is safe at the Ponderosa allotting Ross space to consider what kind of man he wants to be."
That should have been the end of it. The conclusion of yet another debate efficiently won by Pa. If I were Hoss or Little Joe, I would have accepted the conclusion of our conversation and returned to work. But I was not Hoss or Joe. I was my father's oldest son. Strong, capable, independent, and determined and as such I had a secret weapon in my arsenal to use against Pa in arguments I refused to lose.
"Papa," I whispered. "Please."
Papa was an odd word to come from the mouth of a man of my age. Sometimes it sounded strange to my ear though it never felt wrong to say.
As a child, I had held on to the word longer than most—something I now know but had no concept of at the time. Both my younger brothers had abandoned the term by the time they were eight. I was twelve when I stopped saying it. Save for horrendous situations or sickness, it ceased passing my lips with any kind of regularity. It was something I suspect now saddened Pa. There were so many things he had been unable to shield me from during my early years. For a boy who had been forced to grow up so quickly, it was nice to be able to hold on to the last vestige of childhood for as long as I had.
I stopped calling our father papa when Hoss did. At the time, it didn't seem appropriate for my younger brother to outgrow such a thing before I did, so I discontinued its use—at least in front of others. It became a private thing, a secret of sorts between me and Pa, hidden from an outside misconstruing eye. What my brothers don't know is I called our Pa papa in private until I went off to college. It wasn't until I returned from school as a grown man that I ceased using it fully. It wasn't long after my return when I discovered, by pure accident, the power of uttering the word during an argument with Pa.
I hadn't meant to say it; it had slipped out. Though neither of us dared address it, we could not deny it had been said and heard. I could not ignore how it had allowed our disagreement to suddenly shift in my favor. I am ashamed to admit the word is mostly loaded when I use it now—I know what it can accomplish, what it can implore Pa to agree to—though sometimes it still slips for no reason, and, when it does, it seems to say things to Pa that I am unable to.
Removing his hand from my neck, Pa waved me away. "Go," he sighed, "before I change my mind."
My journey to Virginia City took me to the bank, the church, and eventually the doctor. Nothing I was told about Ross was something I expected or wanted to hear. He was in fine financial health, even after having been hit hard a year or so back when the black leg was running rampant through the territory, killing everyone's young cattle. He lost a lot during that time; he nearly lost his ranch. Pa and I had tried to help but Ross's pride wouldn't allow him to accept it. And despite his losses, Ross had recovered; his ranch had survived and then thrived. Money did not seem to be on his current list of troubles. Though during my time with him at the bank, Mr. Begley did make some odd comments about Ross acting strange.
Joe, the minister, did not show Begley's restraint. He would not have, though, not with the history between Ross and the church. There had always been somewhat of a tumultuous relationship between the two. Ross's attendance at church prior to his marriage to Del was sporadic at best. His ma did her best to get his butt on a pew on Sunday mornings when we were in our early teens but nothing she ever threatened or promised was enough to get him there often. Shortly after losing his pa, his two other brothers had died of fever and Ross had taken to blaming God for his losses.
"I don't believe in God," he had suddenly declared one spring afternoon as we stood, fishing off the bank of Truckee Lake.
We weren't much more than fourteen, our voices still ebbing and cracking unpredictably as they slowly transformed into the deep tenors they would eventually become.
"Shhh," I warned, my eyes set on my little brother playing in the shallows downstream. "Don't let Hoss hear you say that. He's liable to tell."
"Ah, I don't care who he tells. The whole world can know for all I care."
"You say that now, but if your ma finds out then you'll be sayin' something else."
"I don't care if she knows. She's the one always carrying on about tellin' the truth."
"I think this is one truth she would prefer not to know."
"I can't believe you." He grinned. "Telling me to lie to my own ma like that."
I rolled my eyes. "I didn't tell you to lie. I told you to omit."
"Yeah, just like you omitted to your Pa how we snuck in the back entrance of the saloon last week."
Looking at each other, we dissolved into laughter. It was giddy and knowing; the hilarity of boys who had shared the first glimpse of things only made privy to men. We had not only managed to sneak into the saloon, we had somehow, miraculously snuck to the upstairs bedrooms and then back out of the building without being seen. The things we had seen, however, would live in the forefront of our pubescent brains for a long while, the first glimpse of what a woman looked like without her clothes.
"You better believe in God, Ross," I warned lightly as I followed him further upstream. "With the way your ma and my pa talk, if you don't repent for what you've seen then you're gonna go straight to hell."
"With you right beside me," Ross quipped.
Casting my fishing line, I shrugged. It was a difficult argument to refute at the time.
"Hey, Adam?" Ross asked. "Do you believe in God? I mean, really believe."
"I don't know. I've never really thought about it, I guess."
"How could you have never thought about it? You think about everything."
"I do not think about everything."
"You think about more things than me."
"Well, I've never thought much about God."
"Then how do you know if you believe in him or not?"
Shaking my head, I thought about the question. "I want there to be a God," I said finally. "Because then that way there's a heaven, too."
"And a hell?" Ross asked seriously.
"Sure, but I'm more concerned about heaven. If there's no heaven then where do good people go when they die? They have to go someplace, Ross; it has to be better than everything and everybody they left behind."
Looking at each other, we both knew what I left unsaid. If there was a God and heaven then there was someplace good for my ma, my mama, his pa, and his brothers to spend eternity. And if there was God then there was devil too, and a hell; a place for evildoers to pay permanently for their mistakes. Fiddling with my fishing rod, I silently prayed to God, asking him to grant me forgiveness for all the wrongdoings Pa remained unaware of and therefore had not punished and absolved me of.
Ross didn't seem as concerned. "I won't argue about wanting a heaven," he said matter-of-factly. "But I still don't believe in God. How can you believe in something who allows the people you love to die? Why would you want to worship and give thanks to the very thing who sees fit not to answer your prayers?"
This was an opinion Ross held on into adulthood; it was reflected in his weekly absences from church. It was not until he began to court Del seriously that his attendance at church improved—something I suspect was due more from a desire to appear acceptable to his impending bride than a sudden change in beliefs. When they were married religion became a bone of contention between the pair. If he and Del we're having trouble it would explain his sudden departure from the church. It would explain his rudeness to Minister Joe when the man showed up uninvited to his house.
But there were other things it did not explain.
Like how Ross seemingly took joy in physically ejecting Minister Joe from his home, or how he beat Del, or how he pulled a gun on me. Ross was not a violent man. Like me, he knew how to use words properly and effectively to get his point across. The disdain for the church and Minister Joe, I understood; it was the violence I couldn't begin to comprehend.
The Minister said the changes in Ross were the devil's doing. He said his soul was sick. This was a theory I could finally believe—not the devil part but the sickness. This theory took me to Doctor Martin. He said Ross was unbalanced; he insinuated, if things continued to erode, Ross should be put away someplace where he couldn't hurt anyone or himself. It was a bothersome conversation, one which left me eager to return to my family and yearning to talk to Pa.
I endured a long, cold ride back to the camp. I could have gone home, checked in on Del and spent the night in the comfort of my own bed, but I could not bring myself to. I did not want to look at or talk to Del. I did not want to force either of us to pretend we were not worried, or that things were somehow better than they were.
It was past dark when I finally arrived at the camp.
"Well, lookie here." Smirking, Little Joe stood on the opposite side of the campfire as I approached, his eyes darting between Hoss and I. "Our older brother has finally decided to grace us with his ever-helpful presence."
Sitting on a horizontal log in front of the campfire, Hoss's attention did not wander from the plate of food held in his hand. "Let him be, Joe," he grunted, his mouth full.
"Now, why would I want to do that?" Joe asked. The question was posed in good nature, begotten by fondness rather than any real resentment. Struggling to grab a hold of my chain, he was yanking it; after all, it was the brotherly thing to do. "Did you have a good day off, brother? Did you think of us, Hoss, me, and Pa as we were working hard, sweating, and toiling away on the range while you were in town?"
"Joe," Hoss warned evenly. "I said quit." He cast me a thoughtful look, a knowing glint in blue eyes. Suddenly, I felt anxious. I wondered if Pa had shared with him what had prompted my visit to town, and then I wondered what else he knew.
"Did you talk to Pa?" I asked him.
Hoss nodded in return.
"Did he tell you about Ross and Del?"
Hoss nodded once more.
"What about Ross and Del?" Joe asked quizzically.
"Leave it alone, Joe," Hoss warned.
"Nah, it's fine," I said. "No use in hiding it from him."
"Hiding what from me?" Joe demanded. There was an edge in his voice, a sudden fire in his eyes. It was a predictable response from him in moments when he felt purposely excluded, one which I was certain was not exclusive to him. Didn't all last-born brothers always vie for the attention of their older ones? Didn't they all feel a hint of true resentment when they believed they were being coddled and purposefully excluded from anything their elders might know?
In the moment, I was grateful for the predictability of Joe's discontentment. I may not be able to foresee what Ross's next action would be, but at least with Joe I always would. If I knew Ross like the inside of my hat, then I knew Joe like the back of my hand.
"Del's staying at the Ponderosa," I said to Joe. "She and Ross are havin' trouble. He beat her badly, and he doesn't seem to be acting like himself. So, to answer your earlier question: no, brother, I didn't not have fun in town today."
Mouth agape, Joe's face was shock filled. "I'm sorry, Adam," he said. "I didn't know."
"I know," I said. "Now you do. It's fine, or it will be. Where's Pa?"
"Talkin' to some fellas in the chow line," Hoss said, jetting his head at the other side of the camp.
Though the chow line was still active, Pa was nowhere to be seen. This was not a worry; squinting into the night, I assessed our surroundings before I decided upon the direction I was headed.
I found Pa just outside the outskirts of camp. He was alone, just I knew he would be. Sitting on a fallen tree, he held a steaming mug in his hand. I was sure it was coffee laced with a few pulls of something dark and strong. Something to soothe the stiffness of his aging body and allow him to sleep happily on hard earth. He was getting older—we all were, I suppose. This was a sad thought; one I couldn't deny any more than I could prevent myself from thinking it.
Someday he would no longer be able to lead our yearly round up and it would be a task delegated to one of his sons. I was no more eager for that day to come than I was for another I had only recently begun dwelling upon. It was an unavoidable development, one to be both anticipated and dreaded.
Someday I knew Pa would be too old to carry the load he did now; time would pass and he would need help running the ranch and that would be the time for his sons to step up. To take more ownership over the tasks of the land, maintain and grow upon what Pa had built. I was certain Hoss and Joe would step up when the time came, just as I was certain I would not. Someday I would leave this place, Pa, my brothers, and the land. I would set out and wander the world until I found something my heart and soul wanted to claim as my own. There was no avoiding it; there was no fighting how some things were destined to be.
"Adam," Pa greeted, his voice traveling through the dwindling gap between us. Though I was still a distance away, Pa noted my presence despite the dark. He always had an uncanny ability to identify me from afar.
I smiled. "Pa."
I sat beside my father. He wrapped his arm around me, his hand lingering on my shoulder as he pulled me close. I leaned into him, allowing his warmth and strength to momentarily soothe my worry. His palm settled flat in between my shoulder blades, and neither of us spoke for a long time.
"Do you know what this reminds me of?" he asked eventually, his dark eyes locked on the stars above us.
"Headin' west," I said.
There had always been something about camping out that made Pa sentimental and nostalgic, nights like this reminding him of another time. A time when we were both so much younger, when the future seemed so dangerous and volatile yet so open to extraordinary possibilities. Pa and I had enjoyed peaceful nights such as this one, sitting together and staring up at the stars.
"Heading west," he repeated, the words escaping on a longing exhale. "Those were simpler days."
"Those were harder days," I corrected.
"They were harder, and they were simpler."
"They were dangerous. Variable. You woke each day not knowing what would come, what challenges or sadness they would bring."
"It was a wonderful journey, despite its pains and complications."
"It was something."
Pa grinned at me, and I knew there would be no stopping him from romanticizing his memories of the past. For a moment, I wondered why I wanted to. There had been so much bad back then, what was the harm in recalling the good?
"Adam, are you telling me that you, my son who thirsts for wandering and adventure, does not want to remember our previous travels fondly?"
"I am plenty fond of that time, Pa."
"What was your favorite part?"
I didn't hesitate; I never did. "Finding Mama."
"I knew you would say that."
"That's because it's what I always say."
"That's how I knew," he admitted. "She would be proud of you, you know; she would be thrilled by the man you've become." He held me a bit tighter. "I'm proud of you, too."
He had said the words before and he would say them again, though that did not minimize how they made me feel. My brothers and I were fortunate we had been born to such a man. He may have been hard on us from time to time but we had what I know some men spend their lives longing for from their fathers: his support, acceptance, and unconditional love.
"What did you glean about Ross in town?" Pa asked.
"I talked to Mister Begley at the bank, Ross isn't under any financial strain."
"Begley shared that with you? Does he have no discretion where another man's privacy is concerned?"
"He didn't want to share the details at first. I may have angled it out of him. Ross's accounts have been in good standing since he changed his brand awhile back." I shook my head. "He always insisted that the symbol of a silver dollar would bring him luck. I guess he was right."
"Luck always has a way of running out," Pa mused. "A man usually pays for luck in ways he's not truly aware of at the time."
"I talked to Minister Joe and Doc Martin. Joe thinks the devil's embedded himself into Ross's soul and is intent on dragging him to hell, and Doc thinks Ross has been driven insane."
"Neither of those are favorable options."
"They are not."
"What do you think?"
I sighed heartily. "I do not know which option is worse, or more reasonable. After today I think I'm hoping you're more right than they are."
Pa cast me a curious look.
"I hope it's one of those instances where time is a friend and people just change," I said.
"That is not such a favorable option either, son," Pa reminded. "What if Ross has changed? What if he's decided to remain with a violent hand towards Del?"
"I don't know."
I didn't want to think about it; I was still hoping the instance of Ross hurting Del would eventually become a solitary mistake. Even so, there were other things to be concerned about, like Ross's change in personality and habits. Del had said Ross had beat her; Minister Joe had said Ross quit going to church; and even Begley had noticed a difference in Ross's demeanor. How had I missed these things? How hadn't I known anything was wrong? I had not seen it because I had not wanted to, a small voice in the back of my head urged. I had been avoiding Ross for weeks. Of course, there was a different reason for that. One that weighed so heavily on my heart and soul. One that I was intent on not sharing with anyone.
"Give it time, Adam."
Pa's words reminded me of his wisdom and strength. What was happening with Ross could never happen to my brothers or me. Pa would never allow us to become so lost. Unless of course, he did not know we were losing our way.
"Do you want me to talk to him?" Pa asked.
"No," I said as I pulled away from him and stood. There was nothing in the world I wanted less than that. I did not want Ross to repeat his accusations to my father, or worse: slip up and accidentally divulge a bit of the truth. We promised we'd never talk about it, a vow that with the way he was feeling, I was not sure Ross would keep. Shoving my hands in my coat pockets, I fought a shiver that was threatening to run the full length of my body. The night air felt much colder without his warmth. "I'll leave you to your stars," I added. "Please don't stay out here alone for too long. I worry, you know."
"Ah," he groaned, waving me away. "I am quite capable of taking care of myself."
Nodding, I bid him a silent farewell and began to walk back.
"Adam."
Turning around, I walked backwards for a few paces, awaiting Pa's next words.
"I love you," he said. "I really am very proud of the man you are."
I nodded again, the thickness in my throat returning, I did not trust myself to reply as I hoped I prayed I was still worthy of such words. Did I do this? I could not help the question as it awoke. Was it our secret that was driving Ross mad?
I did not sleep well that night or the few that came after. My dreams were haunting and turbulent. I dreamt of Ross and Del, of him beating her to death and then me killing him for what had been done.
I dreamed of our youth, of me chasing him through those snow-covered pines. Sometimes I never caught him. Others, when he finally stopped running, he stood his back toward me, and when he turned around, I discovered he had become someone else. He was a stranger, complete with a different face and completion. "They're gonna find out, Adam," he hissed. "Someday, everyone is going to know what you did."
I dreamed of him and I fishing the day he asked me if I believed in God, only instead of asking the question, he cackled and shrieked loudly, his unstable laughter gargled and echoing as he drowned me in the waters of the river. "This is all your fault!" he screamed. "I'm only doing this because of what you did first!"
I dreamed of the game we used to play, of the end of his gun which was always so expertly pointed at my chest. Only in the dream, the bullets which escaped its barrel, burrowing their way deep into my body, were the furthest thing from a game. "I had to do it, Adam," Ross said sadly. "I had to let go of the hold I'd had on my mind. I just had to go crazy, and someday, so will you."
And then there was another dream, one of which no sense could be gleaned. I dreamed of a blue-eyed demon in the desert. Though he looked like a man, I knew he wasn't. His eyes gleamed with evil; his laughter was deep and grinding; I immediately saw him for what he was. He was neither of the earth nor the heavens. He was something born from the depths of hell.
"You pretend you don't know what's happening to your friend. You act like you don't understand, but we both know you do. Someday you will come to me," the demon said. "Someday, you will be forced to see it, and when you finally do, you will enter the desert and you will beg for my help."
Gasping, I awoke, happy to have emerged from the dream when I did.
The days that came after were not much better than the first. I stayed where I was needed and chased after and branded cattle alongside my father, brothers, and our hired hands. The days were long and hard, spent on the back of my horse. The nights were dark and cold, my slumber increasingly haunted by bad dreams. Though never said anything outright, my family was aware of my troubled slumber. They did what they could to comfort me. Each night Hoss and Joe's bedrolls kept getting closer and closer to my own, and Pa made a point of silently slipping a bit of something dark and strong into my coffee in the evenings to help me relax. He abandoned his stargazing and took to covertly watching me instead.
As the days passed, Sheriff Coffee brought word that a stage had been robbed and a few men killed; he advised us to keep an eye for odd travelers. I snuck away one afternoon to look in on Ross. While he appeared neither guilty nor remorseful over what he said or done, he had decided to do something worthwhile with his time in Del's absence. There was a small group of men in his company, hands he had hired to help with the Silver Dollar's roundup. I was eased by this knowledge—all-too-eager to interpret the news as a sign of better things to come.
Still, my bad dreams about Ross and the devil in the desert continued. Vivid, violent, and confusing, they intensified my worry about Ross's fate-and my own-until I could no longer contain it.
"Do you believe in God?" I asked Pa one afternoon as we sat on the back of our horses.
It seemed like such a frivolous question once it had been asked, rhetorical and inane. Of course, I knew Pa believed in God. He was the one who had taught me to pray; he was the one who had read the Bible to me when I was young; and he was the one who led us all to church on most Sundays when we were young and sporadically now that we were older. He wasn't the godliest of men, but he did his best and he had taught my brothers and I to do our best too. His belief was indubitable; the question I had posed him, however, was not.
Turning his saddle, Pa looked at me, his face contorting in an odd expression. It took me a moment to realize what it was and then another to accept that after all these years, and with as well as he knew me, I could say something that took him by genuine surprise. "You and God having a bout, son?" he asked.
I shrugged.
"That doesn't mean no or yes," he said.
"I don't think Ross believes in God." My eyes drifted to the landscape; I could not look my father in the eye while I said such things.
"What makes you say a thing like that?"
"He told me he didn't."
"When?"
"When we were fourteen."
"When you were fourteen," Pa laughed. "Well, son, a great deal of time has passed between now and then. Maybe he's changed his mind."
"What if he hasn't?"
"Adam." It was Pa's tone, deep, gentle, and reassuring, that invited me to look at him, and when I did, I saw concern shining in his dark eyes. "What is this really about?" he pressed.
I had no other option but to answer honestly. "I dream about Ross and Del and the devil, too, I think."
"Is this why you've been so restless at night?"
"I suppose. What if Minister Joe is right? What if the devil is inside of Ross and that's what caused him to change? How do you save someone from the devil, Pa? How do you save somebody from themselves?"
"The devil is in Ross Marquette," Pa repeated, casting me a look of disbelief. "I cannot believe you, the most educated of all my sons, would allow yourself to truly think that."
"Why not?" I countered. "Sin is sin and who do we blame it for? If we give thanks to God for the good, then how can we not give the devil the credit for the bad? Pa, if you believe in God then you have no choice but to believe in the devil too. If Ross doesn't believe in God, how could he know if the devil has a hold of him? And how can he fight that hold if he doesn't believe it exists?"
"It is your nightmares that are making you tortured by such a thing?"
"I do not have nightmares," I snorted, oddly offended by the very notion. I wasn't a child; I was a grown man and as such did not suffer from juvenile unpleasantries. "Just… bad dreams."
"Okay. Is it your bad dreams that are making you so preoccupied with this?"
"I feel like something bad is going to happen." Something bad already happened. I longed to abandon the conversation. To silence myself or change the topic, but I had come too far to stop myself now. "Something terrible will happen," I added. "I don't know what and I don't know when, but something is… building and growing and it's going to continue growing until it becomes too large and then it's going to finally explode."
"And what is going to happen when it does?"
"I don't know."
Pa was silent for a few moments, his face frozen with an emotion I couldn't quite place. "Do you want to know what I think?" he asked. His voice was a little too gentle, as though he was speaking to a terrified child. "This situation with Ross has caused you some strain. The work out here has been demanding; you're working from sun up to sun down and you're not sleeping well out here. I think you're tired and that tiredness is adding to your unease. Son, I think I might be best if you went home."
"What?"
"I want you to go home." Pa raised his hand as I opened my mouth to protest. "Just for tonight," he qualified. "We need supplies, and I'm delegating you to get them. Go home, Adam. Visit with Del. Take it easy, sleep in your own bed, and relax. In the morning, I am sure you will come to realize your bad feeling has passed."
I did not have the heart to discredit his claim.
The ride home was lonely, and I took the trail slowly. I was not eager to return to Del. I did not know how I was going to look her in the eyes and see the worry, guilt, and concern she had displayed when I rescued her from Ross's abuse. I did not know how I was going to comfort her when my own worries remained determined to never be calmed. I found her just as I expected her to be. She had cleaned the house to soothe herself—something I am sure Hop Sing did not perceive as kindly. He remained hidden away in his quarters and I wondered if he and she had quarreled over something as silly as chores. He took intense ownership over such things, and she had never liked being unoccupied or still. It was a quality she and her husband had in common—a shared disposition which had made them so right for one another from the very beginning.
Ross never could stand still; he always had to be doing something. Dreaming up new plans and enacting them or abandoning the past and present altogether in exchange for something new.
When I returned from college, I found Ross busy plotting his future. His brothers and father had died, leaving him responsible for their ranch, and when his ma died the spring before I returned from the East, he had become preoccupied with a different life than the one his family had left for him.
There was gold to be had in the Black Hills of the Dakotas; an excitement was building, and he wanted to be a part of it. He intended to sell his family's land, travel across territorial lines, strike a claim, and build a new life. I told him he was mad for entertaining the idea. Why would he want to abandon his family's legacy for the guaranteed hardships of such an unpredictable future? Though it was not as vast as the Ponderosa, the Marquette's land was sprawling, bountiful and beautiful. It didn't hold any gold, but it contained better things than that. Like the house he had grown up in, the trails he had rode with his brothers, and the wide-open spaces his father had taken him across as a young boy. There were memories upon that land, hints of the people who had left it behind, but maybe that was why he wanted to leave it. It was too large of a thing for a young man to contend with on his own.
Ross had been intent on leaving. But the day he met Delphine his plans suddenly changed. He loved her from the moment he laid eyes on her. He was hers before a word was spoken between them.
"I'm gonna marry that girl," he had declared, his eyes first setting on her as she loitered in front of the general store in Virginia City.
"What girl?" I asked, casting my gaze on the thoroughfare.
"That girl." He nudged me with his shoulder and nodded at her. It was an action that did not go unnoticed by her. Noting his attention, she smiled at him and nodded back. "There, you see?" he declared. "She feels it, too."
"Feels what?"
"She wants to marry me."
It was a ludicrous notion—all-too-hopeful on Ross's part. I had never seen the girl before and neither had he. They were strangers. How could they possibly want to marry without speaking or even standing next to each other first? All they had traded was a smile and nod from across the street. How could those two things equate to marriage or even love?
"Note this moment, my friend," Ross said. "And my words. That girl is gonna be my wife."
"She doesn't look like the type to do well in a mining camp," I said flatly. "She appears quite dainty from afar. Much too beautiful to be asked to cope with that kind of roughness, if you ask me. You marry a girl like that and relocate her to a camp full of coarse men, you're bound to invite trouble."
He cast me a confused glance.
"Aren't those your plans?" I asked. "The very reason you and I came to town today. You were going to post your land for sale, remember? Then you were going to begin to gather equipment and rations for your travels north."
His face slowly softened with recollection. "Oh," he said quietly. "Yeah."
"Unless, of course, you plan to marry her and then leave her behind. Although, I don't know why you would do that. Half the reason to marry is to enjoy the kind of companionship that accompanies marriage vows. Such a thing will not be possible from three territories away."
"Yeah," he agreed absently. "That's a terrible idea. I would very much like to consummate those vows" He glanced at her, then at me, and then looked at her once more. "I'm gonna marry her," he said firmly. "In fact, I think I might ask her right now."
"What?" I laughed.
He didn't respond as he walked determinedly across the street. I watched as he introduced himself, then promptly dropped to one knee before her and asked the very question he said he would. They quickly became the primary focus of everyone around them as Del did not hesitate—not even for the briefest of moments—with her answer. Lips curling into a broad smile, she beamed at him and said yes.
It was the most outrageous thing I had ever seen. It was bizarre, astounding, and extraordinary. Magical in a way. They married shortly after. Del joined him on his family's ranch, and he abandoned his plans for mining. With her by his side, he had found his new life.
Like her husband, Del had loved Ross from the start. Though they were experiencing their difficulties, neither of those things had ceased. With time and space needed between them, her stay at the Ponderosa had only intensified both feelings. The deepness of her love for him made her a forgiving wife; it left her longing for word of him, to see and speak to him for herself.
Like Pa advised, it wasn't prudent to rush such things. She and I took a ride up the Butte; it was an idea I suggested to ease her worry and prevent us from talking about Ross or anything else.
The beauty of the land always had a way of calming worries, reminding a man to slow down, dismiss his troubles, and enjoy his surroundings. On top of the crest, awestruck as I gazed upon the stunning land extending for miles, I was reminded there was nowhere I needed to be more than where I already was. This implored me to think about the future and the past, left me feeling a little too culpable for Ross's current difficulties. Doc Martin had said he was imbalanced, and Minister Joe thought the devil had taken hold of him. What if one thing had everything to do with the other?
"Del," I whispered as we sat on the back of our horses. "What's happening to Ross, do you think God is punishing him for what we did? Do you think maybe he'll punish us, too?"
"No," she said. "Ross loves me; I love him; and you love both of us. Our intentions came from a pure place, even if they can be looked back upon by others poorly."
"That sounds like an excuse someone makes when they're trying to justify something they know was wrong."
"Leave it alone, Adam. It's over and done with. We can't change it now, and why would we? After all, it was only the one time. Ross has always been more weak-mind, more sensitive than you or even me, don't you dare pretend you don't know why. He's just upset, that's all. It'll pass, and things will return to normal. You'll see."
Shaking my head, I was not so sure. Still, we had promised never to speak about it—all three of us had. It was part of the deal, and a vow I was determined to not break again.
Returning to the ranch house, we shared a quiet dinner, and a companionable evening in front of the fireplace. We played four consecutive games of checkers, and she bested me in each one, then I retired to my bedroom, leaving her alone with a sliver of brandy and her thoughts in front of the flickering embers of the dying fire.
I drank my brandy behind my closed bedroom door, the pour much more generous than I would have dared had my father been around. I needed something to relax me, and the liquor did its job. My slumber was deep and dreamless.
I awoke the next morning and rejoined my family at the camp. The morning air was cool and crisp, embedding into my body a chill that would not be shaken. I think I knew before I came upon my father and brothers that the morning was destined to turn sour. Sheriff Coffee was in their company, and it was not lost on me how he didn't immediately look me in the eyes.
It was Pa who explained Ross had been stealing our cattle. His prosperity after changing his brand to the silver dollar had nothing to do with luck; he had purposely chosen the symbol because it allowed him to eclipse our brand, leaving no evidence or suspicion behind. I could not understand why Ross would steal what Pa had tried to give him a little over a year ago. We had offered him cattle, when the black leg had all but devoured his herd. It was not charity, though that was how Ross had chosen to see it. If was like a brother to me then he was another son to Pa.
Over the campfire, I stared at Pa, both of us not wanting to know what we did. Neither of us wanted to believe the irrefutable truth, or gave voice to the question which lingered in the thick air around us unasked. Why would Ross go through the trouble of changing his brand? Why would he steal now what he refused to take then? Pa did not know the answer, but, deep in my heart, I did. It was another symptom of guiding that secret, of keeping private something that should not have happened to begin with. It should not have had to happen, just like the stealing of the stock. Just like everything else Ross had done, the details of which I did not yet know.
It was about to get worse. Sheriff Coffee warned of such. "I'm gonna add to your troubles, Adam," he said seriously. "In fact, I'm going to just about kill you."
I knew Ross had developed a recent penchant for violence, but I didn't know the extent. It was he who robbed the stage, killing the driver and the guards. He had changed. He had become someone else. Wife beating and threatening people could be forgiven, eventually. Cattle rusting, robbery, and murder made the situation serious. It made it punishable by law, tall gallows, and carefully braided rope.
My stomach turning, my knees felt weak as panic consumed me. My stomach turned and my knees felt weak. I was certain I was going to be sick before joining Pa and the others and embarking on an inevitable to the Silver Dollar Ranch. Once there, the sheriff would question Ross and take him into custody, confining him to a jail cell. Then there would be a request made for the presence of a circuit judge, a trial and a verdict, and gallows built for all to see. I knew what Ross had chosen to say to me, but what would he say to them? What would he say about Del, or me? If he decided to repent, coming clean about everything, his own secrets and the one that we shared? What would people think of him then? Or Del? Or me?
Though I knew he did not know the source, Pa took note of my crippling unease, cast me a serious glance, gripped my shoulder, and told me to head home. The light in his eyes told me I did not have to be a part of what was going to happen to my best friend, but what Pa did not know-what he could never know-is that I already was.
I thought about my dreams then, what both the Minister Joe and Doc had said. Was the devil inside of Ross? Was he truly sick? Or was it anger and grief that had fostered his madness. The weight of that damn promise the three of us had made, becoming too heavy to bear. It did not make any difference, at least not then; he was already too far gone to truly save. Stealing was bad; murder was wrong; and actions always came with consequences. Sane or not, a man was responsible for his actions. He always had to take responsibility for what he had done.
I did not think about Del until one of the hands made mention of her. I am ashamed to say why such a thing spurred me into action. My true intentions for that quick and frantic ride home. I knew before I left the camp that it was too late to change what had been done. Even if Ross could not live with it, Del and I would still have to. We would continue to shoulder the weight of a promise that should not have been made.
Busting through the front door of the house, I heard Del's voice, so quiet and weak. Ross had beaten us both, it seemed, me to the house and her to the floor. He blackened her face and broke her neck, then abandoned her as she succumbed to her wounds alone. But she wasn't alone, not in the end. I was with her, holding her close as her chest finally fell and ceased to rise again. I wondered if that was what he had wanted. If, somehow it was what she had wanted too? How could she live with what we had done if Ross was not with her? Why would she even want to?
I considered these questions obsessively as I reached for a rifle and loaded my rounds, preparing myself for what needed to be done.
I had followed Ross as a boy, so I knew him better than most. I knew where to find him. Past the river and towards the staggering and sloping rocks, across the steep landscape that stood tall and white against the vast blue sky. When I finally caught up with him, he pointed his rifle at me again. He didn't recognize me as a friend; I did not recognize him at all as he opened fire.
I wanted to bring him home; I wanted to help him—lord knows, I did—then he opened fire and shot me in my arm. Grabbing my side-arm, I did what I had to do with little thought and then watched my best friend fall on the ground. I held him as he died, agonizing over what could have been—what should and should not have been. Ross had become a wife beater, cattle rustler, stage robber, and murder, but I held him during those last few moments, I didn't see any of those things. I didn't see hints of the devil either, or the mysterious evil hold Minister Joe had suggested. I saw the boy I had grown up with, the one I had followed through the pines, into trouble and out of it; I saw my brother, the one from another family who everyone had once called my twin. I thought of us in our youth and everything we had once said.
"Does it ever stop hurting?" he asked me after his Pa's death. "Do you ever stop missing the people you lose?"
"Not really," I said. "You just get used to not havin' them around."
As a boy I answered the question, but as a man I knew the truth. The hurt never completely ebbed; you never really got used to life without the people you lost. A piece of your heart always longs to have them back.
"I don't believe in God," Ross had declared as a youth.
"I want there to be a God," I had said. "Because then that way there's a heaven too."
As Ross's breaths became labored, I wondered if this was a belief I still wanted to hold true. If there was a God, then there was a heaven, and there had to be devil and hell, too. A place for sinners and evildoers to pay permanently for their mistakes. If there was a hell and heaven, then I didn't want to think about where Ross was headed. The devil may not have been in him, but I wondered if God was. I wondered how harshly he was going to judge Ross for his recent sins and mistakes. I wondered what the punishment for mine was going to be when the time finally came.
In his last moments Ross finally seemed to come to. Confusion and pain washed over his features and he said he didn't understand how or why he had come to have a bullet in his chest. I held him for a long while after he passed. I cried because I was devastated. I cried because I felt guilty. And I cried because, God help me, I felt relieved.
It snowed the day we buried Del and Ross. It was an unseasonable kind of storm which blew down from mountains as we lay them rest next to each other. Standing with my shoulders squared, my back ridged and tall, I didn't move or cry. I'm not sure I registered the cold. I was too overcome by guilt and shock to pay mind to anything else.
My family stood next to me. Our proximity was a bit closer than was normally allowed; I suspect if there hadn't been other people present then Hoss and Pa probably would have reached for my hands. It wouldn't have been allowed—under any circumstances—they both knew that.
They had both tried to talk to me, each at different times. Pa had tried to gage my grief and soothe my pain. Hoss had tried his best to alleviate my guilt. Still, I remained tortured with quiet wonderings.
I wondered if I would ever get used to Ross being gone. If I would ever be able to forgive myself for what had happened between us. The three of us had made a promise, and they had left me alone to keep it. I no longer knew if I wanted to, or even if I could. How was I supposed to live with it?
When the last bit of dirt had been placed on Ross and Del's respective graves, I could no longer tolerate remaining still. Turning around, I ran, seeking respite among those familiar snow-covered pines. I ran until my legs threatened to give out beneath me, my legs to give out beneath me, and my chest like it was going to explode. My breath coming in haggard gasps, I stopped, lingered in place, and gave into my tears. I no longer knew what I wanted to believe or who had been right. If there was a heaven and a hell, a God, and a devil. Maybe insanity was a gift from the devil, bestowed to inspire and bring about horrible crime, pain, and sin. Still, I cursed God for allowing such a thing to happen, for making me be the one to take Ross's life, for allowing him to take Del's, so that I would be left alone to contend with our secret.
There was nothing I could say to ease the pain of what had happened. There was nothing I could do to change what I had done. A tightness settled in my chest. It felt as though someone was holding my heart, sporadically clenching, and squeezing, awakening a deep, stinging sadness that seemed destined to never ebb or cease; it declared I would never recover from the events which had unfolded. I would never be able to reconcile my own actions or forgive myself.
Had I done this? Had the secret that Ross, Del, and shared killed them both? Would it eventually kill me too? This thing that I promised never to talk about. That I tried to tell myself time and time again was nothing more than a bad dream. It seemed so unlikely when I thought about it. The very act was so incompatible with the man I really was. I was not the type of person who would have done something like that. It did not make sense that I had. How could I have done it? I did not want to, but I did, and it had driven Ross mad. I wondered if it was going to drive me mad too.
I do not know how long I stood among those pines, screaming and sobbing. When I finally ceased, the snow had stopped falling and the sky was beginning to turn dark. Night was coming and I was alone. I wanted to be home then. I wanted the chill that had settled into my body to be chased away by the warmth of the fireplace. I wanted to smell the comforting aroma of those logs burning; I wanted to hear the chatter of my younger brothers as they argued over a game of checkers. I wanted to be close to Pa, pretending not to notice his covert worried glances. Thinking of my father, my tears were renewed. How was I ever going to look at him again? Knowing what I knew, having done what I did. How was I going to go on pretending now that both Ross and Del were dead? How was I going to reconcile this with myself or even God?
"Hey, Adam," a voice said suddenly.
Startled, I jumped, then turned around, and watched Little Joe emerge from between the trees. I wondered how long he had been there. If he had chased me until I stopped and then watched me scream and cry. I wondered how such a display would make him feel, or how it would make me feel if I knew for certain he had seen it, or who he would share it with if he had. Then I wondered why I cared so much. Why should such a thing be allowed to matter anymore? Why did I always have to be brave and strong, feigning certainty about every one of my actions while harboring so much pain and guilt?
"Did Pa send you?" I asked.
"No, Pa didn't send me." He shrugged in a chagrined manner. "He ordered the opposite, actually. He told us to give you some space."
"This is what you would consider space?"
"No, big brother. This isn't what I would call giving you space. I just… I know what Ross meant to you and I didn't want you to be alone. I wanted to make sure you made it home okay. It's getting awfully dark; I didn't want you to have to walk alone."
Not trusting my voice, I nodded. He didn't look at me as we traveled back to the cemetery. I was grateful to him for that, just as I was thankful the night settled quickly around us, disguising the hot tears that refused to be stifled or calmed.
It all ended with a thickness in my throat, the weight of all the unspoken words that could have formed the story of a secret I knew could never share.
END
This storyline continues in the next installment of the series: Predicament.